


Beastie and the Bard

by agent_cupcake



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, First Time, Garreg Mach Monastery (Fire Emblem), Reader is a musician, Reader-Insert, Romance, fem! reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 13:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 66,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22496998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_cupcake/pseuds/agent_cupcake
Summary: A monastery built upon the legacy of the divine, a religion created from a revelation to guide the lost and grant them miracles, and an infamous academy teaching the Fódlan elite the art of warfare. A prince striving endlessly for honor and justice, a great warrior honed from birth as a vessel of destruction, and a wretch corrupted to rot by a bleeding heart. A dreamer with grand ambitions, a lover of music driven by the ideals of the heroes of old, and a pathetic child who fears the silence that drones in the wake of failure above all else.It really is quite a poetic start, isn't it? In another life, perhaps it could have been a fairytale.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Reader
Comments: 44
Kudos: 244





	1. Prelude in C Major - Opus 1, No. 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This is shameless self insert and basically follows the plot of White Clouds... So I won't be including a lot of the game's plot stuff, just assuming you know how it all goes  
> 2\. I've posted it on my tumblr already, but thought I'd add it here just for funzies  
> 3\. The rating will go up on chapter 5 (if all goes according to plan) and I'll update the rating and tags accordingly  
> 4\. The ending is already written, all I'm doing at this point is fleshing out the meaty bits and editing it all together. I swear that I will not drop this one, I actually almost didn't post it for that reason but HEY whatever  
> 5\. This is very tame for my standards tbh, but I had a story I wanted to tell so here it is. I hope you like it

Centered in the very heart of Fódlan within the expansive range of the Oghma Mountains, buried deep behind lush forests and the foggy pass of Magdred Way, Garreg Mach Monastery loomed above the world from its sea of clouds, the stately towers and ancient architecture acting as stalwart sentinels for those below.

Upon first glance, you were enchanted. Upon second, enthralled. After that, it was only a matter of trying to distinguish which things you loved the most. Perhaps it was the way the grass that blanketed the area was so green and vivid, flourishing in spite of the passing seasons of cold. Maybe it was the enclosing lines of formidable stone walls your wagon passed on the way up, dotted by towers, topped by parapets, and washed in browns and grays by time’s ever turning hand. Or, possibly, it was what laid behind them that your heart was taken in by. Bustling civilian towns surrounded the monastery, markets and housing districts built on tier-like shelves along the climbing slope in a haphazard sprawl of civilization. Only about half of anything seemed to have been done with any purposeful design, but the people were lively and energetic, their intermingling voices and calls and the chaotic track of daily life creating a lovely sort of song to accompany your nervous anticipation.

A zigzagging road cut through the center of it all, leading up to the main gates of the monastery itself. Beyond that were the spire towers of the monastery, a place so old and established that the buildings seemed to have grown out of the mountain directly.

Garreg Mach Monastery was, simply put, beautiful.

You couldn’t say exactly what you had expected - how could you build up a mental image of a place when it was so different from anything you’d ever known? - but you knew that it surpassed whatever fantasies you might have been able to conjure. A musician’s life was built upon romantic comparison and clever use of words, but there was nothing quite like Garreg Mach that you could think to liken it to. In some ways, it brought to mind the hidden castles pictured in the illustrations of your childhood fairy stories, a place of wonderment seated up in the sky. In another sense, the grand structures invited thoughts of the daunting military fortresses in Rowe territory called Arianrhod, a place of protection and great strength.

Then again, it was unlike any of that. Garreg Mach was a dream come true, a place you’d been longing for since your youth, made even more wondrous because you were not here to simply admire and gawk. Aside from being the central location for Fódlan’s religion, the Church of Seiros, Garreg Mach was an academy specializing in the art of warfare. Perhaps it was odd that a monastery would be the host for a school well known for teaching students in the ways of the physical and logical aspects of battle, but upon seeing the place for yourself you felt no need to question the combination. Like the complementary entwinement of harmony and melody, or the pairing of bread and butter, it was something that made sense.

The market area at the very top of the mountain had a festival-like air to it when you finally arrived. Temporary stalls boasting toys and trinkets were erected alongside weapon racks full of silver and steel, the next tent over featuring mannequins dressed in heavily accessorized and stylized academy uniforms to lure in young students with the shine. Somewhere, something was being roasted, the enticing scent rolling in with the hundreds of other smells filling the square. And beyond all of it was Garreg Mach’s front hall. The wagoneer who had charged you two pennies for a ride to the top of the mountain pulled his small wagon to the side of the entrance gate where horses were hitched and wagons left so as to not further congest the busy market square.

Slinging your lyre case across your back using an invention of your own design with a thick leather strap crossing your chest, you jumped to the ground. Once your feet were planted, you luxuriously stretched your arms above your head, relieved to finally be finished with your travels. 

Despite yourself, a shiver slithered down your spine. Although the weather was extremely mild in these parts of Fódlan, especially since it was only barely the new year, the altitude lent an extra bit of cold to the air. You were grateful for the warm blazer of the academy uniform, but perhaps regretting your stylish choice for stockings rather than leggings. Only somewhat. They were awfully cute, after all. A covered yawn invited the chilly late-morning air into your lungs, making you aware that the oxygen was far more thin than you were used to. It was something you had been warned of, but not quite expected.

“Are you ready?” Finnegan, the aged wagoneer, asked as he rounded the wagon, allowing the grooms to deal with his unhitched roan horse.

“Yes, sir,” you replied, smiling brightly and filled with renewed energy that had you bouncing on the balls of your feet with anticipation, and to fight off any clinging touch of that chill. With every movement, the case of your lyre tapped your back, a counterbeat to that of your heart and feet.

Finnegan laughed as he unloaded your trunk from on top of his boxed goods. “You oughta be saving that kind of talk for the knights, I’d say,” he told you in his odd accent, although he wore a friendly smile. At first glance the man had seemed quite gruff and intimidating, what with his sun aged face and wide brimmed hat casting deep shadows over his rugged features, but person’s character was something you felt you had to learn by more than just looking at them. Besides, he was the only one to offer to drive you to the top of the mountain rather than making you walk, which counted for a lot considering how late you already were in arriving to the academy.

“If that was the case I’d have to insist you call me ‘Lady’,” you told Finnegan primly, maintaining a serious look for just a moment before it split into another grin. “But, Master Finnegan, I don’t believe in such things.”

Finnegan laughed again, shaking his head in bewilderment. “If you say so, young miss,” he said. 

You crouched to lift your heavy trunk. It was like you filled it with rocks, although you knew it was more accurate to say it was filled with trees, considering how much paper was packed away. One never knew how many books they’d need while training to become a hero. 

“Er, would you like some help with that?” Finnegan asked, looking somewhat concerned. “I reckon if you sent for someone they could fetch it for you.” 

Despite the weight, you didn’t feel strained as you stood up. Between a year and a half of intensive training and the natural strength lent to you by the Crest imbued in your body, you hardly blinked at the weight. It was rather impressive, really. Just a year ago you probably would have collapsed beneath it.

“It’ll be all right. I got it this far, after all,” you told him playfully. Finnegan still looked doubtful. Worried, maybe? But he didn’t argue, for which you were grateful. Even in this small way, he trusted that you weren’t too weak for the task. It bolstered your confidence. “I suppose this is farewell, then.”

“That it is, young miss.”

“Well, then… Good luck with your trade, Master Finnegan,” you said. Then paused a moment, something occurring to you. Carefully, you balanced your trunk on one knee to free a hand, a most precarious position. It was fine, however, as you only needed to retrieve a handful of small things. Coins. “Here! As a… Tip!” you said, holding the money out over the flat surface of your trunk.

“A tip, young miss? That’s not necessary, it was only a short journey,” Finnegan said, eyeing the coins doubtfully. You realized a second late it was a rather sizable sum to most people, especially for a tip. But even to you, hailing from a rather poor family by the standards of nobility, a pocketful of coin was all but worthless. You offered them up more insistently, afraid your precarious hold on your trunk would fail and unwilling to back down.

“For your smile and good company, then,” you told him. Finally, thankfully, he took the coins. You were happy to see it made him smile. Indeed, his face didn’t look even half as scary when he smiled, even if his teeth were crooked. It gave him character. “Goodbye, Master Finnegan. I’m happy to have met you.”

“Likewise. Good luck to you, young miss,” Finnegan said, tipping his wide brimmed hat.

And that was that. Perhaps there were more words you wanted to say, but you knew it was only prolonging the inevitability of having to venture into the crowd all by yourself. Finnegan himself was little more than a stranger, but he was relatively more familiar than what was to come. From here on out, it was only you and the world. Or, you and the academy. There had never been a time in your childhood that you had thought you’d be in a position of such grand freedom, or that such a thing would feel so precariously tilted, like you were balancing on the edge of a ledge and ready to fall any moment.

But you’d already come this far, and anxiety wasn’t the only thing making you jittery.

Weaving among the market square with your trunk making each step just a tad more cumbersome, you made your way towards the sweeping monument that was Garreg Mach’s entrance hall. There were as many people as there were on the spare occasion you went out into the streets of Fhirdiad, but these people were far different from those crowds. Energetic. Enthusiastic. Clean. There was no anger in the shoulders that bumped yours, and nobody cursed at you if you accidentally stumbled into them. It was what you’d always hoped the world would be, in a way.

Careful with the steps considering you couldn’t see them over your trunk, you finally got to the large doors. They were open, revealing a grand entrance hall swarming with even more people and activity and noise. Not even bothering with a steadying breath, you entered the fray with awe-filled eyes and parted lips, amazement filling you at the magnitude of it all. Just as you had thought while approaching, Garreg Mach was amazing. Fulfilling and surpassing any dream you could have ever had, more wonderful than any place you’d ever been. Truly without a parallel, Garreg Mach was -

Too busy gawking at your surroundings, you almost ran right into somebody.

“Watch where you’re going, girl!” the person snapped. You nearly fell in your skidding steps backwards, but managed to keep your balance after a bit of stumbling. Heart racing from the near catastrophe, you peered over your trunk to see who you had almost knocked over. A woman. She was dressed in the robes of the Church of Seiros with her graying hair in a rigid knot atop her head. Her bespectacled gaze was piercing, and you were certain her thin face had more wrinkles than skin.

“I’m so sorry!” you exclaimed, shrinking beneath the weight of her glare, so similar to the intimidating look given to you by many of the tutors you’d had growing up. The woman neither accepted or rejected the apology, but you were certain that her lips tightened in disapproval, encouraging more words to tumble from your mouth apologetically. “I couldn’t see you over my trunk, and I was just a bit distracted because I only just arrived and it’s all so grand! But I really am sorry, I hope I didn’t hurt you or anything, I-”

“Name?” she interrupted brusquely, using a snappish tone of someone who was utterly certain of her command over your obedience. She was right. You gave your name to her quickly, without hesitation. From behind those narrow spectacles, she scanned the pages in the leather bound logbook she held.

“From Fhirdiad… Of low, noble birth… Oh, Imperial mother?” she muttered as she made a note with a charcoal pencil on the page, seemingly speaking to herself. You weren’t sure if you were meant to respond, but she saved you by raising her arm into the air, withered skin and church robe flapping with the movement. At her cue, a young man cut through the surrounding crowd and jogged up to the two of you. She didn’t even look up at his approach.

“Another student?” he asked, dark eyes flicking from her to you.

“She is,” the woman flipped to a different page in her book. “Bottom story room. It seems that there’s several available on the far end.” She made a mark on the page.

“Got it,” the young man said. “I can take that.” He motioned to take your trunk, which you’d nearly forgotten you were carrying while speaking. Just a year ago, your arms probably would have been trembling and weak by now. “You want me to take that, too?” he asked, pointing to the lyre case on your back. Your hand rose to touch the smooth shell of the case instinctively, protectively.

“No, thank you.”

He didn’t argue, nodding before sauntered off with your trunk, the retreating image of his back eaten by the crowd of students.

“Do you understand the Officer’s Academy system of organizing their students?” the woman asked.

“Yes, there are three houses,” you replied, repeating information you had rehearsed many times. “Since I come from Faerghus, I’ll be in the Blue Lions house.” Your sword instructor had graduated from the Blue Lions as well, a source of great pride for him. The severe woman nodded.

“Yes. Your house leader this year is Prince Dimitri, the heir to the Kingdom’s crown.”

Your stomach tightened, but you nodded. It was surreal to hear it said aloud, but expected. Even you, far removed from local gossip and noble politics, had heard that Prince Dimitri would be attending the Officer’s Academy. Although you’d often thought of him as being years your senior, his idol status elevating him to something far grander than your own limited existence, he was the same age as you.

“You’ll be expected to complete registration before class begins the day after tomorrow, although I recommend making time for it today so you may receive your official room assignment and key,” the woman continued. “Any further questions can be answered to your house leader or professor.”

“Understood,” you agreed automatically, a response instilled in you through the brute force of too many frightening authority figures. 

“That’s everything, then,” she said, snapping her book closed. “If you continue ahead you will find the common rooms where I’m sure you will be able to locate your house leader for further questions. It is, of course, expected that you will behave in a fashion suited to a student at the Officer’s Academy at all times.” The pointed glare made you shy away, but you nodded. She gave a single, curt bob of her head in acknowledgement. “Now, please excuse me, there are other students who require my attention.” She did not wait for you to respond, leaving you standing alone without even a goodbye or good luck. Using your excellent judgement of character, you decided you didn’t like that woman very much.

But, being alone gave you a moment to pause and catch your breath, studying the crowd of students around you. They were nearly as interesting as Garreg Mach itself. They were wildly varied in terms of appearance and disposition, hailing from all parts of Fodlan, but they all wore uniforms just like yours. They’d come to Garreg Mach for the same reason as you, to learn the art of fighting and battle. Most of them would be noble, or at least extremely wealthy. Both, sometimes. Not that it mattered. Your dream had nothing to do with nobility or wealth, or even to do with other people. That didn’t mean you couldn’t make friends, though. You’d never had a friend from the Empire or Alliance. Well, really you hadn’t ever had a friend at all. The idea that you would was frightening, but exciting.

Even more frightening, yet exciting, was the fact that you were about to meet someone you had spent most of your life idolizing. Oddly, the idea invited far more nerves than anything else. Prince Dimitri was no longer your idol, and he hadn’t been since you crested the cusp of childhood, but he was still royalty. The genesis of your dreams of knighthood and heroism.

After a bit of uncertain mental back and forth, you decided to gather the guts to ask someone where you might find your house leader, realizing how easily you could get lost when you made it past the great entrance hall and into the expansive space beyond.

Blue cape, the first student said. Blond hair. Likely hanging around the common rooms. Or the dormitory, another chimed in. Wait, hadn’t you heard that the house leaders were leaving today? He was already gone. Oh no, claimed another student, they hadn’t left yet. Yes, he could have sworn he just saw the Blue Lions professor hurrying past. His face oddly pale, too. A bit weird, don’t you think?.

So began your first journey around the huge and confusing labyrinth of Garreg Mach. Not only did you know next to nothing about the layout, but you weren’t even entirely certain if the one you were looking for was still here. According to some sources he and the other house leaders were already gone. After a certain point, you were ready to admit defeat and settle for locating the rest of your class, until you saw the back of a head with cropped golden blond hair. Beneath it waved a cape so blue it seemed to make every other color less intense.

Anticipation spiked in your heart. Nerves. Fear. Excitement. It had to be him. Somehow, you were certain of that.

On feet sore from the strain of breaking in your new school shoes, you hurried towards the figure. “Excuse me!” you called, drawing the gazes of the other students in the main hall. Right back where you’d begun, actually. You’d made so many circles around the monastery grounds you probably should have felt dizzy.

Luckily, the man in blue paused, turning his head back towards you curiously.

It was strange. As was only natural considering how long it had been, the prince looked completely different, yet you felt an instant pang of recognition. It was really true. It was him. You came to a stop a few feet away, breathing heavily from a combination of all the running and thinner air and uncomfortably aware that there was a sheen of sweat on your brow. Not exactly the best impression, but you managed a nervous smile regardless.

“You’re the house leader? For the Blue Lions?” you asked, a hand on your cheek in a vain attempt to cool it. You should have used his name, but somehow you felt too embarrassed to say it out loud.

“I am,” Dimitri responded slowly, curiously.

“You’re awfully difficult to find, you know,” you said with a breathless little laugh, trying to play off your nerves. Realizing immediately after that it sounded an awful lot like you were criticizing him, you quickly added, “But I’m not upset! It’s just that grounds are so big and I kept getting lost and I was told to talk to you before anything else and… Oh!” You stopped rambling and took a deep breath. It was easy to convince yourself that the only reason why your head was spinning was the altitude. You introduced yourself with a bow that was only slightly awkward due to the weight of the lyre case on your back. Ladies curtseyed, but your new position dictated that a bow was more appropriate. Recognition filled Dimitri’s eyes at some point during your drawn out introduction, curiosity being replaced by understanding.

“So you’re the late arrival. My apologies for not being there to greet you. Please allow me to welcome to the Officer’s Academy. I am Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, crown prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus” he said, bowing neatly, the movement carefully controlled with perfectly stiff posture and grace. “Although, while we’re here, I’m simply a fellow student. Please feel free to address me informally. It’s an honor to have you in our class.”

“The honor is all mine,” you replied, only mostly flustered by his elaborate introduction, but smiling at his welcome all the same.

“Do you have any questions about life here at Garreg Mach, or your role as a student?” Dimitri asked, his voice polite and earnest, eyes the same startling shade of powder blue as you remembered. It was a color you spent much of your youth attempting to put to song, but seeing it again, you realized you’d never gotten it quite right. “I haven’t much time, but I would be happy to answer them.”

You didn’t even know if you had questions or not, you couldn’t remember what you had been thinking before finding him other than frustration at being lost and anticipation at seeing him again.

“You’re going somewhere?” you asked instead.

“The leader’s for each of the three houses are going on an expedition together so we may become more familiar before classes start,” Dimitri explained. “My most sincere apologies for such a short greeting, but I imagine we’ll be back tomorrow. If you have questions in the meantime, I don’t doubt that the other Blue Lions students will be of great help in answering them. I believe you can find them in the common room.”

“Oh… All right! Thank you, Your Highness,” you said, bubbly despite the nerves. Or perhaps because of them. You couldn’t help but note that your voice was just a touch too high to be considered normal. “And, um.. Good luck!”

Dimitri surveyed your enthusiastic smile before giving you one his own, an expression that didn’t reach his famously blue eyes. Not that it looked false, really. It was a smile that made you aware of one of the largest differences between your first meeting and this one. All those years ago, you had both had your fathers at your side. 

Men who were now dead.

“Thank you. I will endeavor to do my best.” Dimitri bowed again. Then, with a vaguely militaristic step, he turned and left through the large doors. They allowed afternoon sun into the grand entrance hall, warm and golden, slanting slightly into your eyes.

After a beat of standing there uncertainly, you turned on your heel to leave. Your thoughts lingered on the meeting. Seeing as you had only met Dimitri the once, it came as no great shock that he wouldn’t remember you. A starry eyed girl would always recall her meeting with a prince, while you were just one of the hundreds to him. Mostly, it was just surreal. For years after that meeting, Prince Dimitri had something akin to a storybook character come to life. An object of your childhood fantasy, not a person. Meeting again, you were made aware that he was just a man. An orphan with weary eyes.

Shaking your head, you tried to cast out the prince from your mind altogether. Dimitri was far and away from being the reason you had worked your heart out to come to the Officer’s Academy, even if once upon a time he had been the inspiration. You were now a woman, free of such childish idealism. Adult idealism was much different.

For one, these ideals were going to be realized, of that you were most truly and absolutely certain.

**_Prelude in C Major  
Opus 1, No. 2_ **

Garreg Mach was a mystery. You realized that pretty soon after getting lost for the third time. The old stone walls and large buildings were filled with a thousand little details and secrets just waiting to be discovered. It reminded you of the months directly following your move to your father’s estate when you were younger, before you knew everything it had to offer. It was a mystery that you wouldn’t be able to solve so quickly, but by that night, you at least knew the cast.

You first met Annette, the incredibly friendly and clumsy sorceress. Despite her tiny frame, she toppled you right onto the ground with her in her mad dash attempt to pull you to meet her best friend Mercedes. Mercedes, Annette’s best friend and white magic sorceress, greeted you with a smile so warm you felt it in your heart. She bandaged Annette’s scraped knee with a patience that led you to believe she’d done it many times before while they told you about the School of Sorcery in Fhirdiad, a place you’d heard of but never seen.

Then there was Ashe, the adopted son of Lord Lanato of the Gaspard Territory you had traveled through on your way to the monastery. His easy smile and soft green eyes invited an instant sense of trust, and it seemed that the both of you had similar goals and dreams. He was infectiously enthusiastic about the both of you trying your very best.

Ingrid was chivalrous and proud. You only properly met her when another member of the class named Sylvain approached you with flirtatious intent, only to be promptly scolded by the virtuous blonde. Old friends, she explained while Sylvain rubbed the back of his head where she’d smacked him, along with His Highness and Felix. Felix had a hard stare and intimidating aura, but he did smile while teasing Ingrid about her excitement over the food at Garreg Mach, so you doubted that he could be that bad.

Dedue you wound up meeting by accident, as he hadn’t been in the commons room. Actually, you met him in the greenhouse. The giant of a man had been tending to the flowers within. You only recognized him based on description, although it would have been impossible to mistake him. Prince Dimitri’s vassal and a man of Duscur. He didn’t say much to your introduction, and his gaze was intimidating and impossible for you to read.

Duscur was the country razed to the ground after taking the blame for the King’s assassination some years back. You didn’t know a lot about the tragedy that had taken place, or any of the events leading up to it, aside from that it had resulted in Dimitri’s father’s death, as well as the death of many others. There were many people who whispered about how bizarre and inappropriate it was for Dimitri to have chosen a man of Duscur as his vassal, although you found it hard to believe that Dimitri would trust someone of rotten character. Besides, you’d never seen such large hands be so tender with something as delicate as flowers.

By the next morning, you had a basic knowledge of Garreg Mach’s layout. Basically. At the very least, you got from your room to the mess hall and then to the baths without much trouble.

By the afternoon, you learned that the house leaders were back in the monastery.

A half hour later, you were told that there had been bandit attack that had nearly killed all three lords. To much fanfare and relief, they were accompanied back to the monastery by the mercenaries who saved them, a man named Jeralt who used to be a Knight of Serios and his son. 

Jeralt’s son introduced himself as Byleth. You’d heard whispers among the students that called him the Ashen Demon, a moniker he’d picked up while doing mercenary work. To you, he didn’t look very demonic. His expression was perfectly serene, uncaring. Lacking emotion entirely, it almost seemed. But he was attractive, what with those dark blue eyes and messy hair, and very polite and softspoken. And he’d saved Dimitri. Besides, everyone was talking of how skilled he was in battle. 

You liked him. How could you not?

An hour and a half after meeting the man, the Blue Lions were all gathered together and informed that Byleth was to be your new professor. Apparently, the other one had ran away in fear when the bandit attack happened, which had become a mere footnote in the excitement of Professor Byleth’s arrival and sudden hire as a teacher. A cowardly man you’d never meet, it seemed. Not that it mattered much. Who better to teach you to be a heroic knight than someone with actual combat experience? Your newly minted Professor Byleth didn’t seem to be too concerned one way or another about the entire affair, his dark eyes measuring each one of his new students in turn before wishing you all a good night. 

The next day, classes began. And such was the start of your education at Garreg Mach Officer’s Academy. 


	2. Berceuse Sous la Lune - Opus 2, No. 1

There was no comparison for the beauty of the day. Lush and lively, with the sun casting warmth and life upon every creature below, illuminating each vivid color of the world. But _your_ days since arriving at the academy were filled with work and people, endless activity and motion. The time you did spend beneath the sun was while you were training with weapons, pushing your body to its very limits in an attempt to catch up with the others in your class. The rest was spent in the classroom, learning all that you could from Professor Byleth in regards to tactics and battle sense. Things most of your fellow students had learned early on in life. A background education of manners and music was not ideal for the knight you wanted to be, and thus your day had not a moment to spare for the slow appreciation of day’s beauty.

That left you to retreat to the sole consolation of the majesty of night. It was a time of dreams and mystery, perhaps a time more suited to your particular romantic nature should you not have had such a fondness for the light of day. The silvery sliver of moon hung as a beacon in the indigo sky, the stars winking from up on high. If anything, the air was a bit more cold than would be comfortable, but that only aided in the witching cast of the hour.

A sleepless night. And one, you decided when you found yourself unable to bear the silence of your tiny, isolated room a minute longer, that was very fitting for a bit of music.

Sitting shamelessly upon the cobblestone ground at the edge of Garreg Mach’s dark fishing lake with your lyre a comfortable weight in your arms, you began to test the strings. Aside from the audaciousness of the cold encouraging you to pull on an extra cloak before leaving your room, it also wasn’t very kind to your poor lyre. You probably should have practiced inside, but the fishing area was protected enough to grant you workable conditions.

The music began slowly. Just a few eclectic chords and notes, your hands caressing and plucking the strings with a forwardness that would probably embarrass any other lyre if you were not as well acquainted. You didn’t practice as much as you had when you were younger, having spent the better part of the last year and a half with a sword rather than with an instrument, but music was not something so easily forgotten.

Little by little, the notes unraveled to become fragmented melodies, which twisted together in something resembling a tune. It was as natural as breathing that your fingers decided upon the piece they wanted to play. For the moon and for the stars, for the collection of fish hiding beneath the surface of water, and perhaps for the goddess herself, should she wish to hear it. A song began to roll across the monastery’s fishing lake, swirling in with the mist that had settled there before dissipating into the dark night sky. Out of respect for the somber night, it wasn’t one of the hero ballads or tavern jaunts you so enjoyed, but a lullaby. Simple in the way each note pushed into the next, easy to pick up so it could be passed from generation to generation, but resonant and sweet nonetheless. The lyre, when properly played, could have an ethereal flow to it. An eternal melancholy and sweet beauty, lending something special to the time favored tune. There were no words that you knew of, but you took the melody in a humming line for the chorus, your voice helping the lyre to weave silk from silence, and perhaps coax an overwhelming world to peace.

It wasn’t long until the short song pulled to its final farewell. Your breath held while striking the final chord, as if to savor the last of the sound, to hold on to the song that much longer. But it was temporary, and the lullaby eventually faded out to silence entirely. The breath, too, left your lips. A sigh of disappointment that it was over, but of contentment at having played at all.

“That was a lovely song.”

From your lips emerged an awful squeak of a cry, your head whipping to look behind yourself to the owner of the voice that startled you so. It took a moment, even with your eyes as adjusted to the dark as they were, to discern who it was that so menacingly loomed above you.

“Your Highness?” you asked, your voice trembling with nerves and shock. After blinking a few times to confirm what you thought you saw in the dark, you were sure that it was Dimitri that stood tall behind you. He was recognizable for many reasons, but especially for the bright blue cape slung across his shoulder. Even in the dark, it seemed to retain that unmistakable azure color.

He was, perhaps, the last person you expected to encounter, but you were glad it was him and not one of the patrolling knights. You let out a big breath of relief, glad that being so thoroughly startled hadn’t injured your lyre. Or worse, caused you to throw it into the dark water below. You truly didn’t fancy a swim at this time of night.

“Was I being too loud?” you asked.

“Not at all. I just came down from above,” Dimitri responded, gesturing in the direction of the stairs to the second story dormitories. “I am truly sorry for giving you such a fright.” He paused, then added, “When I heard the music, I wondered it might be the work of a siren luring me to my demise.” Dimitri spoke in a voice that was mostly serious. You thought, maybe, you could hear just a touch of playfulness in his tone as well, but it was far too dark to see his expression, and you didn’t know nearly enough about him to tell.

You weren’t sure if it was less believable that he’d make such a teasing remark, or that what he said almost sounded like a compliment. You weren’t sure what to do with the influx of excited nerves that twisted your insides, either.

It occurred to you that you hadn’t ever anticipated finding yourself in this situation, and that for all of the conversations with Dimitri that you had composed in your head, you were utterly uncertain of what to say in reality.

Maybe it would have been better to be approached by one of the scary knights after all.

“Ah, my apologies. That was inappropriate,” Dimitri said after your stilted moment of shy silence stretched too thin, his voice a bit awkward.

“No, no! It’s okay!” you said in a rush, scrambling for something to add, something that wouldn’t lead to any further bizarre misunderstandings or give away how utterly flustered he made you. “It’s not that at all! I was just surprised that you would say something so… Whimsical.”

“Whimsical?” Dimitri repeated, regarding the word with dubious amusement.

“It must be in the air tonight,” you said, pushing past your rush of fluttery panic and grasping for a subject change. “Speaking of that… What are you doing up so late?”

“I was unable to sleep. I thought I’d put the time to good use and train,” Dimitri answered.

“Training, Your Highness? At night?” you asked, surprised. Didn’t he do enough of that during the day?

“Yes, well, the knights leave the training grounds unlocked. I find it helps me clear my mind.” Dimitri allowed his answer to settle before asking, “As you mentioned, it’s quite late. Is there a reason you’re playing out here? Surely it would be more comfortable, to mention warmer, in your personal quarters.”

“I got a noise complaint,” you responded, your nose scrunching. That much was true, at least. The girl you shared a wall with had complained of your playing, although you found it to be a bit unfair considering her own nocturnal activities. At any rate, it was a convenient reason. “Besides,” you added. “It’s a lovely night.”

“I see,” Dimitri said, his frown made clear in his tone.

“Is that a problem?” you asked slowly.

“Not at all. I only worry about your safety. I don’t doubt the integrity of our fellow students or the diligence of the academy’s faculty, but…”

He didn’t need to finish that statement for you to understand what he was implying. You hadn’t even considered the question of safety. Before moving to Fhirdiad nearly two years back, you had spent your life sequestered on your father’s estate, allowed to do as you pleased anywhere you wanted no matter the hour. You had hosted many midnight recitals for the flowers in the garden and the moon in the sky. In Fhirdiad, you had access to a balcony that had become your refuge when the inside rooms became too claustrophobic.

But you were no longer in either of those places, and Dimitri had a point. Looking out across the romantically beautiful lake, into the lovely mysterious sky, you found it hard to imagine bad things happening. The night was truly a lovey time. Then again, it was also the time for those who lived in the shadows to enact their foul deeds, the time for those with intentions they wouldn’t dare expose beneath the revealing light of the sun to see them realized. You had read enough stories of such things to understand the inherent peril of the night.

“I didn’t even think of that,” you said with a sigh of disappointment.

“You could come to the training grounds to play,“ Dimitri offered quickly on the tails of your disappointed sigh. And then, as if embarrassed, he quickly continued, "That is, I wouldn’t mind if you did, and I doubt that anyone else is there at this hour to complain of the noise.”

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother to you,” you said, albeit with a rush of butterfly-like excitement. Excitement over the offer? It wasn’t as if he was asking you out or something, in fact he wasn’t even really inviting you to spend time with him. It was an offer to simply share the same space. Then again, the two of you would be alone. At night. And he would get to hear you play. You were blushing at the thought, you could feel it, along with a sense of gratitude for the concealing darkness.

“You wouldn’t be a bother at all,” Dimitri responded earnestly.

“Then… That sounds good,” you said, forcing yourself to maintain a sense of normality. Carefully, you placed your lyre in her case - a velvet lined beauty that had cost nearly as much as the instrument itself - and latched it, overly aware that he was watching you.

The nerves you felt weren’t an effect of your childish crush coming back to haunt you, you didn’t think. Nor were they really any sort of crush at all, although you couldn’t entirely deny such a thing. For the most part, your nerves came from the fact that Dimitri was more or less a stranger to you, albeit one you regarded in high esteem and with much awe. Being near him in the academy hadn’t lessened those feelings, only augmented them to fit a sense of deep admiration for a peer rather than an idol. Dimitri was aloof and cool, always focused on training and learning with steadfast attention. He was more skilled in lance combat than anyone you had ever seen, and didn’t allow himself to become caught up in distraction,

Not to mention that, while he made it a point to emphasize the idea that you were all of equal standing at the academy, Dimitri was still a prince. And then, as much as you’d like to pretend otherwise, there was his appearance and the matter of his sex. Under your father’s roof, you had never spent any time alone around boys when you were younger. Keeping you isolated from men had always been easiest for your father, maintaining you as an untouched jewel to be presented as pure to a stranger man in need of a bride. More recently there simply hadn’t been time to entertain the idea of courtship or marriage, even in a casual sense.

In short, you were hopelessly inexperienced when it came to boys. Especially attractive and royal ones that you looked up to.

Your only hope was to appear as anything a step up from disastrously awkward as you stood and brushed off your backside, lyre case in hand.

“Shall we?” you asked, maintaining your nervous smile. He hummed in assent, following your lead. A dozen different ice breaking sentences begged to be spoken as you walked at Dimitri’s side towards the training grounds, the words whirling and nervous. You were filled with an uncharacteristic amount of shyness, compounded by the dark and the quiet.

“Have you been playing very long?” Dimitri asked as you scaled the steps to leave behind the lake and all its lovely misty, moon-drenched beauty. The lawn you had to cross in order to reach the training grounds was outside a block of first floor dormitory rooms, shadowed by the tall stone buildings rising tall on either side, casting the both of you in thick, intimate darkness.

“Since I can remember. I love music,” you responded quickly, glad to have a reason to fill the air with words and trying most desperately to keep yourself from letting on how nervous you felt at his side.

“And yet you came to the Officer’s Academy,” Dimitri said. Not a question, not exactly, but holding the spirit of one.

“It’s really your own fault, Your Highness,” you blurted out unthinkingly, smiling despite yourself.

“My fault?” Dimitri sounded surprised.

“Ah… Yes, but not in a bad way!” you assured him, scorning your nervous impulsiveness in the same thought that you were grateful for its bravery in the face of your sudden timid streak.

“And how might that be?” he asked. You could recognize the playful tenor to his voice this time. You also recognized that Dimitri was looking at you, and that your face was hot with the nerves that writhed in your stomach.

“When I was young, my father was invited to a ceremony and reception at the palace for… Something, but I can’t remember what. As his daughter, I was brought along. It was unbelievably exciting, I had never been much of anywhere until that trip, but the part I remember the most is King Lambert and his son personally introducing themselves.”

“Really?” Dimitri asked in surprise. “So we’ve met before.”

“Yes, you kissed my hand and everything,” you responded, smiling fondly at the memory. Of course you had been enamored with him after that, what kind of girl wouldn’t have been after such a gentlemanly introduction? “Anyway, the entire affair left a pretty big impact on me. After that, the only stories I cared to know were stories of princes and princesses, kings and queens. Stories of heroism and noble deeds and all that.” You paused, remembering that part of your life so vividly, yet with such vague recall. An odd combination of idealized memory and unhappy truth. “Eventually I realized I didn’t want to just know and repeat and sing about these stories, but that I wanted to be a hero, too.”

There were other factors as well, but you had already told him more than enough without mentioning all of the tiresome details. You especially left out the part where you had spent a great deal of your late childhood in love with the mere idea of the prince you had met, wishing and hoping that he’d rescue you from the lonesome repression of your father’s mansion.

“And how do you think the reality compares so far?” Dimitri asked. You couldn’t tell how he felt about your little story, and feared falling on your face should you try to catch a glimpse of his expression while walking.

“Well…” you let the word trail off as you thought about it for a moment. “You had long hair when I met you. Almost like a girl, actually. And you’re taller, obviously. But your eyes are the same. I think I must have told everybody I knew that the king and prince had the most beautiful blue eyes in existence.”

Dimitri laughed, although you could hear the edge of embarrassment. “That’s not quite what I meant, but… Thank you.”

“Oh! You meant heroism and all that?” you asked. That made more sense than what you had thought, and you felt a strong pang of embarrassment having given such a silly and revealing answer. “It’s different than I thought it would be. I trained an entire year before coming here, but I still feel so clumsy and useless when I fight. I want to have the strength to protect, to save those who are in need… But that’s awfully hard. I’ll stick with it though, Your Highness.”

“I’m happy to hear that. Not giving up and maintaining motivation are some of the most important steps in becoming stronger.” Dimitri paused a beat, continuing, “And by the way, there’s no need to address me so formally. We’re both students here at the academy.”

“Oh, right. Sorry… Dimitri.” His name came out awkwardly, although it wasn’t that being informal with him felt uncomfortable to you, not really. Unfortunately, old habits were hard to kick, and acknowledging titles was something your father had made a priority in your education. He had cared a great deal about titles, given that his own social standing was something he was all too aware of. He must have been rolling over in his grave to hear you address a prince by his first name. You weren’t sure how you felt about that.

Another bout of somewhat awkward silence fell upon the two of you as you approached the large structure of the training grounds. You didn’t dare break it, suddenly feeling quite sure that you’d made a fool of yourself by telling Dimitri so much. Perhaps he would find it odd that you would remember such an event, and especially that it would be so important to you, but there was no way to tell him that it wasn’t he who had created your dream, but some phantom concept of princes and knights that had kept you strong throughout those lonely years. Meeting him here, now, was only a coincidence, really. Still, there was no natural way you felt you could voice that, so you said nothing.

Besides, thinking of that ball always brought back a hollow feeling of wistful melancholy. That had been right after it was discovered that you had a Crest, leading your father to recognize you as his legitimate heir. You and your mother were moved out of your tiny residence and to his large country estate to begin training in manners and other feminine pursuits. You were only with him in Fhirdiad for that ball so he could establish you as his daughter, and to introduce you to various Kingdom nobles in the hopes of arranging a profitable marriage later on.

But as a child, you had known none of that. All you cared about was the beautiful clothes he bought you and the dazzling splendor of nobility, all of the people that were suddenly very interested in you and the stranger of a father who was suddenly showering you with affection.

The arrival at the large training grounds doors surprised you. Between the conversation and the memories it dredged up, it as it felt as if you’d arrived quicker than you should have. Dimitri opened one of the doors and stepped aside to allow you in first. A gentleman, even still. The warm light of several lit lamps greeted you from beyond, although not nearly enough to entirely chase away the shadows. You hadn’t seen the large training plaza so empty before now, the sight of it was almost eerie.

Dimitri let the door shut behind himself and crossed the room to where the training weapons were stored, While all of the iron and steel was held under lock, the wooden equivalents weren’t valuable enough to bother.

“Do you train at night a lot?” you asked, forcing yourself to shake off the tendrils of memory and the lose the veil of awkwardness as you trailed slowly behind him.

“Only when I find that sleep evades me,“ he explained, picking out a sturdy training lance and weighing it appraisingly. After only seconds, it was replaced, switched out for one you thought looked almost identical. Dimitri seemed satisfied with it, turning away from the weapons rack with the wooden staff in hand.

“Does that happen often? The sleeplessness, I mean,” you continued curiously. “Not that I’m trying to pry! I only ask because… I think I can understand, at least a little. Sometimes it feels like no matter how worn out I am, I can’t turn off my mind when I lay down.”

“It happens more and more often, these days,” Dimitri answered, his voiced layered with the tone of something deeper, the sound of genuine fatigue. Quickly, that tone was abandoned in favor of a brighter sound. “In any case, it’s a good excuse to work on my technique.”

You watched as he moved out into the training area proper, swinging the practice weapon around with a casual deftness that nearly took your breath away. Then he set his stance, a breath leaving his lips, and began to move.

It was easy to recognize the familiar stances and choreography of one of the most basic katas as Dimitri adopted its technique, engaging in a warm-up meant to refine different stances and lance techniques. The pattern only mimicked the actual movements of battle rather than serving any sort of usable attack, most of it done at an unnaturally slow pace to instill control and form. You’d always seen the exercises as impractical, a tedious task with no actual use. But you understood now where you had been wrong. While you felt clunky and awkward while following the exaggerated move set, where you had seem them as an annoyance imposed on you by your teacher, Dimitri performed the kata with grace and ease unrivaled. His body created a sort of art, each fluid movement leading into the next with a seamless ease.

Right then, your lyre case felt heavy, pulling on your shoulder and tiring out your fingers, your awareness focusing keenly on its presence.

Music was something you loved. To it, you were unquestionably devoted. But it was also something you were only allowed to do with your father’s blessing, because it was seen as an attractive trait in a bride. Having decent pitch and fingers clever enough to play an instrument were traits akin to those you’d use to upsell a fine horse.

Fighting, being a hero like in the stories you adored so much, was something your father had found most reprehensible. It was something you had struggled and fought to be able to do, and in the end your opportunity to pursue it and come to Garreg Mach only came at the expense of his life and a great deal of effort on your part.

Letting out a breath, you set the lyre case down in the outer ring of the training arena and took off both of your cloaks, letting them flutter like the broken wings of a butterfly to the floor. You hoped desperately that you weren’t intruding on something you had no business in as you approached the weapons rack and picked out a wooden lance. Unlike Dimitri, you weren’t sure what to look for to determine the quality of a lance. The sword was your main weapon, but Professor Byleth had said that he had hopes for you to become a Pegasus Knight, so learning to use a lance was necessary. The wood of the first one you picked up was smooth, a solid weight in your grasp. It wasn’t a weapon that would ever taste blood or see combat, but it was useful nonetheless.

Taking a deep breath, you turned.

“Dimitri,” you called, almost feeling sorry to stop him, but urged by something within you. He paused, lowering the lance to look towards you. Now that you were indoors, you could see him more clearly. Maybe that should have embarrassed you, but you found yourself too distracted, too driven to bother. “Do you mind if I train with you instead?”

His eyes flicked over to your discarded lyre case, then moved to your expression and the weapon you held. “If that’s what you’d prefer.”

You smiled, nervous and hopeful and excited all at once. “Might as well, right?” But the casual words came out all wrong, a cover as you gathered all of the courage you could for a bold, brazen request. “I know I haven’t much basis to ask this of you, and doubtlessly I’m intruding so I must insist on clarifying that you have every right to dismiss me if you so wish, but, Your Highness-”

“Dimitri,” he cut in, forcing your nervous rambling to halt in its unraveling coherency. “If we’re to train together it should be as equals, don’t you think? We are striving towards the same thing, after all.”

A smile tugged on your lips, not a nervous grin or a shy expression to mask your doubt, but something true and warm.

“Of course, Dimitri,” you said, slower and less frantic. “So what I’d like to ask… Well, could you show me how to move like that?”

He didn’t answer right away, as if your request had surprised him. You hoped that was a good thing. “I suppose I can try.”


	3. Symphony Vittoria Act I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same day upload on my blog as AO3 :O  
> Well, yes. I am that thirsty.  
> You know how it goes.  
> Anyway, I want Dimitri to fuckin suplex me into the void, which is neither here nor there, just wanted to out myself. Hope you like the first part of my symphony

**Symphony Vittoria  
Opus 3, No. 1  
I. Allegro**  
  
A whooping shout echoed across the canyon, catching like fire upon a pile of dry leaves as the joyous sound spread across the triumphant troops. The bandit chef had fallen to Professor Byleth’s blade. The Blue Lions had won the battle of Zanado.

You felt dizzy, mentally dampened, and a bit confused at first.

“We won?” you asked nobody in particular, voice raised above the din of a few dozen voices talking at once. The man closest to you was smiling, nodding, speaking. You were slow in catching up, but you managed to make out his answer after a moment of focusing. Won, you had won. And then your ears were filled with the deafening sound of relentless noise and rushing blood, a roar of excitement that grew from within your own self.

You had won!

It didn’t happen in a steady turn, but in a sudden, jolting twist as all your focus and combat oriented energy changed to a joy for victory. It made you giddy, practically drunk on jubilance as the tension left your frame. Your head spun with a tipsy sensation of dizziness, a disconnect between mind and body. Some of it must have been the fatigue casting a haze over your mind as you emerged from the focused state of fighting. Past the overwhelming joy, you were aware that exhaustion had crawled deep into your muscles in a way it hadn’t during the practice battle, or even through your vigorous training exercises. It left your limbs in a loose and rubbery state, but not yet burdened with the aching pain you’d undoubtedly face later. It made every sensation you experienced spark with particular interest to your racing thoughts, voices made that much louder and the blow of a cool breeze through your sweaty hair that much cooler.

It was similar to the high you felt after managing a difficult piece of music or finally pulling off a tricky sword technique, a swell of pleasant and overwhelming joy. A feeling too big to be contained within your limited body. A wild giddiness.

Oddly, the sun had barely descended past its watchful position straight above. It seemed impossible that hours hadn’t passed since you set out upon the canyon considering all that had happened. Then again, your mind recalled the entire battle as nothing more than a blur, a flurry of sword strikes and shouted commands slipping by in a matter of minutes.

There had been the cold and prickling anticipation as Professor Byleth performed his final inspection and gave orders, a shuddering dread as you lined up against the bandits with weapons that had never tasted blood, the fluttering anticipation when the charge was called, and then a surge of energy, strength filling your body as all you had learned in training took over and you fought your first battle with everything you could.

And now, victory.

You didn’t think about what to do next, sheathing your sword and beginning to move contrary to the tide of men. Towards the front line, searching the dissipating crowd for familiar faces. Or, really, just the one familiar face. Your expression split into a bright smile when you saw him, heedless of the exhaustion. Dimitri’s blond hair was messier than you’d ever seen it, even while training. It caught every drop of sunlight, shining gold even when sticking to his head with sweat, several bits swept away at chaotic angles. There was blood on his armor, his cheeks were spotted with a red flush from exertion, and his expression was a bit worn. But, most importantly, he was unharmed.

Right then, in your half mad mindstate, you felt a blind rush of affection. Excitement. Victory. Skipping on feet that felt lighter than air, you rushed past the few scattering ranks of your small force. Dimitri saw you, opening his mouth to say something, but you cut him off by throwing your arms around his shoulders, tilting onto the tips of your toes. Luckily, he was used to moving with a spearman’s firm stance, which was the only thing that stopped both of you from toppling to the ground. The recklessness of the action hardly registered. Impulsive and excited and bubbly with the vigor of life itself, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. It happened so quickly that the sensations barely registered; a whiff of the musky masculine scent of his sweat, the smooth warmth of his cheek against your lips, your hand brushing the back of his hair when your arms met around his neck; and then you were dancing away, smiling with a mouth on the cusp of releasing a bout of delighted laughter.

“We did it!” you said, uncaring of the childish sound of your victorious words. The fact that you had fought and won was more than the victory of battle, serving as solid proof that you were meant to be among the knights and students, that you were right in choosing your own fate. It meant that your father had been wrong. It meant you were supposed to be here. At Dimitri’s side, maybe. “I can hardly believe it. I was so nervous at first, but we did it! I did it!”

“That you did,” Dimitri said in a slightly stiff voice, a measured contradiction to your manic excitement. He had pressed his hand to his cheek, right over where you had kissed him. Was that displeasure you read in his widened eyes, or disgust? Maybe surprise, being attacked was an awfully good reason to lose composure. And more, was his face that red before, or had the color darkened his fair complection further? His hand dropped, being used in a casual gesture towards you. “And with energy to spare, I see,” Dimitri teased. Although he still seemed a little flustered, his blue eyes twinkled with laughter.

You giggled in response, a giddy and nervous sound. The situation was beginning to sink in. Firstly, it probably broke a dozen different rules of etiquette to have thrown yourself at him, and that was before you factored in the unspoken rules of friendship and boundaries his status afforded him. Not to mention the battlefield you stood upon, or the uncomfortable weight of the gazes of the remaining soldiers who lingered, or the fact that Professor Byleth stood nearby speaking to a knight, or that not even a dozen feet away laid the unceremoniously fallen corpses of the bandit chief and his main guard in puddles of drying blood-

No. You forced yourself not to look at them, unwilling to consider the dead in conjunction with the way you felt now. Instead you focused on Dimitri and the thread of enthusiasm that had brought you to him, refusing to allow embarrassment or doubt to make you fold now that you had already committed.

“I’m just so happy that we won!” you said as way of justification. “I never thought that I’d be able to do something like this… And I wouldn’t have been able to do it without your help so I wanted to thank you because if it hadn’t been for all that training I think I totally would have choked, but because of you I didn’t, so…” You let the thought drop there, your disorganized words rushed together just as badly as your thoughts. And then, what else was there to say? The jittery excitement was still thudding in your heart and making your hands shake. You wanted to apologize, but you also didn’t feel sorry, so you chose instead to settle for the middle ground. “Anyway, I… I should probably go back and help.” You gestured vaguely behind yourself, smiling like a fool for all that you should have at least tried to feel shame. “Um, see you, Dimitri! And you, Professor!” you called with a jaunty wave before turning on your heel. If eyes followed you, or if either responded, you didn’t know, and you were far too shy to check as you hurried up the steps to the top of the canyon where the horses and knights were all congregated.

Embarrassment was easy in coming, but found little traction in the thrill that filled you as well. Victory was exciting in a way no song had ever properly described. Maybe more than any song could. And then there was the way your body buzzed, the warmth tickling your lips, and the way your heart pounded when you thought of how bold you’d been.

Victory truly was sweet.

**Symphony Vittoria  
Opus 3, No. 2  
II. Adagio**

Victory, as it turned out, could hurt.

When Lord Lonato fell, it was with an awful, hollow stillness that came in the stead of fanfare or glory. This did not feel like victory, or at least any sort of victory you could be pleased with. Ashe waved away any of your attempts to console or help him, returning to the town alone to find his brother and sister. Even though you desperately yearned to, you didn’t dare follow him alone, knowing that you would be rejected as the enemy.

In the eyes of the townspeople, you were the enemy.

So you watched Ashe go, heart heavy and aching. It wasn’t Ashe’s rejection that stung, not exactly. What hurt the most was the knowledge that you, right then, were useless to him. Nothing you did or said would be able to help him, your words would fall on ears made deaf as they strained to hear the voices of the dead. Nothing you could do would ease his pain or set his world back to rights.

Just like your mother. You could picture her clearly right then, standing in a beautiful black dress above your father’s grave. Weeping because of her true, singular love for the man and the gaping emptiness in her heart that would never be filled without him. Like Ashe, your mother hadn’t wanted your help. To her, you had been nothing more than a reminder of what she could have had, what she was going to have before he died. That day, you lost your mother, too.

Would Ashe be the same as she had been? Would you be a symbol forever reminding him of the death of the man who raised and cared for him? Would he stay in a state of frigid misery, bound by the lingering hold of the dead and unable to move forward? You had only known him for a few months, yet the idea made your eyes hot and teary, a terrible feeling clenching in your chest.

No. You _would_ figure out a way to prevent that from happening, you would not fail again.

Or so you swore to yourself, right then.

Turning away from the empty forrest road and that tremulous silent promise, you set out to find Dimitri. You didn’t know why. Certainly not to ambush him with a hug and kiss on the cheek as you had at the end of the last battle, or anything resembling any sort of excitement. For comfort, maybe. Maybe to ask for advice about Ashe. Then again, you weren’t sure you really wanted to supply a reason for desiring his company. More and more you’d begun seeking it out unprompted. You were friends, and that was definitely sacred and worth pursing. He shouldn’t have been special beyond that, but he was. And you didn’t like to think of exactly why that was, so you didn’t.

The knights were all packing up to make the return trip to the monastery, not losing a second of daylight in their meticulous routine. It struck you as horrifically callous. The church with all their men and might will come to kill your fathers and brothers and then leave within the hour, leaving naught a trace behind. But that was foolish, a childish fancy given teeth as you tried to reconcile what had happened with what you wished would have happened. It was kinder and more pragmatic to leave as quickly as possible and allow the people to grieve in private.

That was the reality.

You were better off with the indignant stance that Lord Lanato was the one at fault for the deaths. His own foolishness was at the cost of the men you had killed. But in the same breath of that scorn could you smell the blood, feel it flaking off of your hands like flakes of rust.

No.

You didn’t want to think about that, you couldn’t let yourself. A knight didn’t weep for those they killed if it was necessary. Those words were a lesson from your sword teacher in Fhirdiad, a knight who had retired after partaking in one too many of the ugly skirmishes that had popped up in the wake of King Lambert’s death. His eyes were haunted when he told you that it was important to know when to care, and when not to.

Another thought that was best left alone.

So you focused on your search efforts. Unfortunately, while dodging through the collected chaos you realized that Magdred Way’s tree lined paths weren’t great for visibility, even without that supernatural fog. Not only was your heart heavy with thoughts you cared little to entertain and you couldn’t find Dimitri, but everybody looked so sad as well. Your friends who should have been proud of themselves for achieving victory without any casualties were wearing grave masks and curled postures with slumped shoulders, the knights grim faced and terse. Professor Byleth was the only one seemingly unaffected by it all, pointing you in the right direction to find Dimitri without expression or comment, trailed by an especially and uncharacteristically severe-looking Catherine. 

Probably, you should have been concerned by that sight alone. But you weren’t, not really, because once you knew where to look Dimitri was easy to spot. He was tucked in the shadow at the edge of the trees, sitting on the convenient seat of a rock with his head bowed and hands folded in something like reverence. The cheerless image brought you up short, the words you had intended to use to call to him dying on your lips.

Pain clung to him, weighed him down with something more than than the cheap sorrow you’d been fighting off. You could easily recognize the way it crowned his head in invisible lead and sank deep and heavy into his bones. It was, after all, a familiar sight.

Holding completely motionless a yard or so away from him, you briefly considered turning around and leaving Dimitri be. People who looked like that had never fared well with your intervention. But you couldn’t. He just looked too sad and lonely. So you approached him with soft steps, feeling the hesitancy of regret before you even spoke.

“Dimitri?” you asked softly, uncertain. “Are you all right?”

He tensed up at hearing your voice, his posture straightening out with a snap as if to cover for the momentary weakness. Red rimmed his eyes, although you thought it was more of an effect of fatigue than tears. It complimented the bluish shadows beneath.

“Yes, of course. I was just resting a moment,” he told you, his expression and voice carefully controlled. “Did you need something?”

Any person in the world would be able to tell that he was feigning indifference. Pain was stretched thin in the forcibly casual tone of his voice like pottery held too tightly, seconds away from cracking. It hurt, strangely, that he would put on an act around you, but you didn’t dare think too hard about that sharp stab of pain or why you’d feel it. More than anything, you were worried, your heart set aching anew as you realized that his sorrow far overcame your own.

“No, I don’t. You looked…” Despairing. Agonizing. Like the weight of the world was crushing you and I don’t understand why. “Upset,” you said lamely. An underlying awkwardness edged your voice, created by your influx of emotions you suddenly had no idea what to do with. “I can… I can go if you want to be alone.”

“It’s not that-” Dimitri began with more false pretense, only to cut off whatever else he was going to add and let out a heavy breath, rubbing a hand over his face and allowing his posture to relax. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. I wanted a moment to collect my thoughts.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” you asked.

“No,” he said firmly. Then, a moment later in a softer tone, “I don’t know.”

“This battle was… It was hard,” you said, an understatement if there ever was one, but Dimitri seemed to understand all the same.

“It was, and I know that what we did was necessary, but… I can’t help but wish that we could have handled that differently, that there was a different way to settle things without such violent measures.” His voice lowered even further, head bowing. “But if it wasn’t necessary, then what we did…”

Dimitri allowed the silence to speak for him.

“I think I understand,” you said, although you weren’t quite sure if you did. A part of your mind rebelled at the idea that violence wasn’t a way resolve conflict, although another wondered what such peace would look like. “But… We just have to keep going, don’t we? Maybe there’s another way, but this… We can’t let it define us, we just have to keep going forward and try to do better in the future, right?”

“Don’t you find it wrong?” Dimitri asked, his question given passion and intensity as he suddenly stood. The louder voice as well as the dramatic physical shift pulled you up entirely short, sending you a step back. “Does it not bother you to indiscriminately take the lives of those opposing us without even questioning if we could achieve the same goals without death?” All of the dispassionate pain you had seen before was gone, lit to a blaze in the soft blue of his eyes.

“I… I hadn’t thought very much about it,” you answered. The words came honestly in the face of being so startled, along with the pang of guilt that hit you from the accusatory nature of the question. “If it’s asked of me and my loyalty… No-” You hesitated, trying to think of a better way to phrase your thoughts, a prettier way. “If something I’m doing is protecting the lives of those I care for, I… I believe that it’s right,” you told him carefully. But, beneath the searching weight of his gaze, you wondered if that was only something to say. Like a poem or song. In truth, you hadn’t given the nature of battle or what you did to your enemies any sort of deeper thought. You didn’t want to. A hero couldn’t be a killer, even if they killed. And wasn’t it the same for you? For him? You had to believe that.

“What if the enemy believes the same?” Dimitri pushed urgently. “If all they’re doing is defending the people they care for in a conflict they have no say in?”

That gave you further pause, your eyebrows furrowing and chapped bottom lip retreating between your teeth as you tried to find an answer. You saw his argument, felt it just as clearly in the conflicted pain in his eyes. Doubt was poisoning him. Comprehension was sharp in that moment, an understanding of something you had been missing in the months you had known him. Dimitri’s capacity to care, something you admired so much, was a double edged sword. Great strength and great vulnerability. Of course it was. You’d seen it before, the agony of caring just a bit too much.

“I’d be glad,” you finally responded, slightly indignant in your desire to stand against his questioning. “If I died because of something I believed in, I would not regret it. I hope that anyone I fight feels the same.”

“And the ones they leave behind?” Dimitri asked, his voice softer, the rigidity of anger gone from this question. You met his eyes. Pure, perfectly pigmented powder blue. The color of reliability and honor, but also the color of melancholy and cold. Now they were needful. Looking for an answer you didn’t have, that probably didn’t exist. “What of them?”

You had heard that question before.

Any and all desire to argue against him bled out of you, leaving the overwhelming swell of post-battle exhaustion and anguish to hit you in full force, so stark it was nearly physical. “I don’t know,” you answered, your voice even softer than his own.

Dimitri’s eyes closed as he turned away, dissatisfied with your answer. “There really is no answer, is there?”

“Maybe there is,” you said, a weak attempt at hopeful optimism against his stormy despair. Dimitri didn’t disagree, but he didn’t have to do anything other than allow the words to deflate and disintegrate in the relative silence of your little bubble on the edge of the trees. And with them, an argument you couldn’t help but feel you had lost terribly. 

“We should return to the others. Professor Byleth will want to speak to us all when we return, disturbing news had been discovered.” Dimitri said, his eyes opening and posture straightening out. The voice he used now was firm, but empty. Closed off once more. He did not wait for an answer before brushing past you, or look to ensure you were following.

“Right,” you agreed reluctantly, uselessly, following him on wooden legs.


	4. Entr'acte

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an accident. Seriously, I have no idea how this happened. What the fuck.

**Entr'acte I**

_**Two years ago**   
  
_

It was late afternoon when you left the administrative offices of your father’s consultant in Fhirdiad. Two days previous, you and your mother had made the journey north to the capital city for your father’s funeral, and today the scribe in charge of his books had invited you in to explain the details of your inheritance. Reaping the benefits of his death barely a week off from the tragic bandit attack that had caused his demise. 

All of it was yours. You, Baron Terrell’s sole Crest-bearing child. The mansion you’d spent the last nine years locked within, the city residence in Fhirdiad, the iron mine that had gotten him a title, and, of course, said fortune. The consultant said that - by noble standards - it was a meager sum, but to you, it was more money than you could even imagine. You should have been happy, right? Or at least caught in the throes of grief for the loss of your father. 

But you weren’t. Decisions needed to be made, choices that you had spent your entire life being denied. Once, you would have thought you’d rejoice at the prospect, but now you felt something crippling and cold.

Mother hadn’t come along. She had barely spoken a word since the news had arrived and popped the bubble of a world the two of you shared. Her absence left you alone in the labyrinthine heart of Faerghus, surrounded by people and given a freedom the girl of your youth could only ever dream of, yet utterly and entirely alone. The world outside of the mansion’s familiar walls was loud and busy and chaotic and, despite the large crowds, utterly isolating. Too many people crammed into a single place. An odd phenomenon. The poet in you wanted to explore the idea further, but it was drowned out by the hollow ache in your chest.

As you descended the steps, you cast your eyes upwards. The promise of rain clung to the chilly air, although it had yet to condense into anything other than an oppressive slate gray block covering the sky. If the sun refused to shine, you would have at least preferred the rain. That would be poetic. Better than this, at least.

Pulling your cloak close to stave off the cold, you hurried out into the busy street. Your father’s coachman greeted you promptly, the horse and carriage waiting at the curb. His name was Walt, a man employed by your father for many years. Now under your employ, as strange as the idea was.

“My apologies, mistress,” Walt told you quickly. “She would not be reasoned with, I tried to tell her you weren’t in any state to entertain, but…”

Your confusion about what he was saying melted when you realized there was someone waiting by the coach’s door. A woman dressed in practical pauper clothes, her hair tied in a scarf and a patched cloak pulled tight.

“Who is that?” you asked Walt. The woman had seen you, her dark eyes sizing you up with a discomforting hardness.

“She is Lord Terrell’s… Niece,” Walt said uncomfortably.

“He didn’t have any siblings,” you said, confused. That certainly would have come up in the will. Walt only looked more uncomfortable.

“No, not that kind. She is… Your half-sister.” 

Your half-sister? That puzzled you for a long moment until you realized. The woman looking at you like a swordsman appraising his rival was your father’s illegitimate daughter. 

“I believe her name is Loren, but she would not make her intentions clear or disperse when asked. Shall I fetch the city guards, mistress?”

“You,” Loren called before you could think of an answer, her voice cutting through the noisy streets. Nobody paused or looked up upon hearing her shout, simply parting around the three of you like the unstoppable flow of water crashing through a river. “You’re Terrell’s daughter?”

“I am,” you replied, too flustered to think of another response.

“I want to speak to you.”

“I’m afraid that is simply not possible,” Walt told her, taking a half step in front of you protectively. “In fact, I must ask you to-”

“Walt,” you interrupted him, setting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ll talk to her.”

He looked uncomfortable with the idea, skeptical of the woman, but didn’t argue as he stepped aside. “As you wish, mistress.”

“Would you like a accompany me on my way back?” you asked Loren, taking a few steps closer to her so you didn’t have to shout. “Walt could drop you off wherever you need to go.”

Loren didn’t answer at first, not letting up with her hard look, but eventually, she nodded curtly, “Fine.” With that, she turned opened the door to the carriage, not waiting for permission. Walt’s lips were puckered and white, but he said nothing other than helping you into the carriage after her. You slid into the seat opposite Loren.

“Take me to Orlabar Ward,” she told Walt before he shut the door. Was that a place in Fhirdiad? You’d never heard of it. Then again, you had only been here once in your life before now. Walt ignored the order, looking to you.

“Yes, that’s fine, Walt. After that, we’ll go home.”

“Of course, mistress.” He hesitated, shooting Loren another distrustful look. “I should remind you that the goddess does not look fondly upon those who lash out against their own flesh and blood. And, might I add, neither does the law.”

“Threatening me?” Loren asked.

“Yes,” Walt said.

“Walt, please, that’s enough,” you told him.

“Yes, of course, mistress,” he said, bowing his head politely before shutting the door. You didn’t begrudge his nerves. Your stomach was thick with them, but you felt curiosity as well. As far as you had ever known, you had no family. Just your mother and father and you. But here she was, your half-sister. If you had paused to think about the implications of that, it might have left you spiraling, but you didn’t.

Through the grayish light that came in through the windows, you had a better look at Loren. She had a severe face, highlighted by the way she’d tied her hair back in the practical scarf. Life had been unkind to her, aging her faster, but you figured she must have been in her late twenties. Despite all that, there was something beautiful about her dark eyes and hair, about the scattering of freckles that littered the bridge of her nose from the passing season of the sun’s kiss. Was there a resemblance between the two of you? Or did you only wish for one right then, your eyes lingering on her nose and browline in the hopes of seeing something familiar?

“So the old man is dead,” she said bluntly to break the silence as the carriage got to rolling down the street. Her expression was carefully controlled, not giving anything away. You blinked at the brutish words, so stark when contrasted against the delicate way everybody else spoke of death.

“He is,” you said after a moment.

Loren continued watching you, her gaze unwavering. You couldn’t tell what emotion that look spoke of, or if she was simply studying you. Time stretched on, the landscape outside the window rolling by until you finally snapped. You never were one much for the quiet.  
  
“Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?” you asked, a hint of exasperation in your tone, nerves making it shrill.

Loren didn’t respond right away, nor did she break the intensity of her stare.

“I thought I would know what to say when I met you. I’ve had years to think about it, you know. Years to let my feelings simmer and brew. But now that you’re right in front of me, I realize that there’s nothing to say,” Loren told you. She spoke honestly, with a voice deadened by a lack of passion. Her dark eyes were steady, her tone without any heated animosity or aggression, as if telling you an empirical fact. “I hate you, but you didn’t even know I existed, did you? Of course not. Terrell gave you the perfect life, all the while disowning and ignoring the rest of us. All except you. Cast us out like trash because we didn’t have a Crest. And I hate you for it.”

A heavy breath left your lips, collapsing your chest as if she’d physically attacked you. “I… I don’t think I understand,” you said softly, your voice a far away sound through the ringing in your ears.

Loren didn’t seem inclined to clarify, continuing on. “I watched as you and your whore mother got everything that I wished so desperately for. Me and my siblings starved while you lived in luxury. My own mother is dead, you know. She died giving birth to another one of Terrell’s bastards. Her natural father had a Crest, leaving her to rot for being illegitimate, but that meant it was in her blood already. Terrell was smart, he knew how to find woman with the proper lineage. He promised her that he would give her the life she deserved, so she kept having his babies in the hopes a Crest would manifest and we could all be happy. She died for that.”

“I’m sorry,” you said when she left a silence, but the words were weak.

“You’re sorry? That’s it?” Loren demanded in her detached way. “Can you bring her back to me? Can you erase a childhood full of starvation and misery? Can you bring back my siblings who fell ill and died, neglected by a father who could easily afford treatment but didn’t because they didn’t have a Crest?”

Cold had sunken down into your very bones. Your hands trembled as the fingers bunched in the fine black fabric of your mourning dress. Loren’s dark eyes were no longer as dispassionate, pinning all of the blame and hatred of an unhappy life on you.

“You know I can’t,” you said.

“Then you are just as useless as he was,” Loren told you, condemned you.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you said, blinking desperately. “I’m sorry that I didn’t know, a-and that a great injustice was done to you, I understand-”

“Oh? You think you understand what injustice I’ve suffered? What misery my life has been because I was unlucky enough to have been born Crestless?” Loren’s anger flared now, hot and riotous in her eyes. Now you saw the hated, pure and undiluted.

“No... No.” You shook your head, throat swollen. “I don’t, I know I don’t, and I’m sorry. But I can give you whatever you want, whatever you need-”

“Renounce the entire inheritance to those who deserve it,” Loren said, her voice clipped and assured. “Take your whore mother and live on the streets as a destitute pauper.”

You choked at the outright cruelty of that demand. “I… I can’t do that."

Loren regarded you with a flat look, her anger having died out somewhat. Hers was the face of a woman who had lived far longer than the years she’d seen, a woman who lived with the dead in her heart and the ones left behind. 

“I really had no idea that my father did this, please believe me. There must be something I can do for you, to help you...”

“Admit it,” she said, her voice returning to a moderated tone. “That’s not your sympathy speaking. That’s your need for an easy way to ease your own guilty conscience.” Loren waited for an argument, but you didn’t give it. “No matter what you do for me or mine, the dead who loathe you will leave you cursed and wretched. I have no intention of easing that burden.”

“But we’re family, aren’t we? Please, I can help you, so-”

“Family?” Loren snorted, as if the very idea was a joke. “Your only family is a dead egoistical rat and that whore you call a mother.” She paused, her head tilting. “I heard she’s gone crazy, too. It’s what she deserves, I hope she hears the screaming of all those she’s stepped on in order to have this frivolous life of hers.”

“She’s not crazy, or a… A whore. She loved him, and she had no idea that he had other children,” you told her through the ringing of your ears. A dizzying shade of red-edged your vision, making your head feel dizzy with the sway of the carriage. “You can speak ill of him, but she is innocent.”

“Innocent? You can’t possibly be naive enough to believe that’s true,” Loren said. You didn’t say anything, because it was true. It had to be. Your mother was many things, but you couldn’t believe she’d allow the suffering of others.

Some part of you whispered that she had allowed _your_ suffering for years and years, but you ignored it.

“By the goddess’ holy tit, you’re just as cracked your mother.” Just then, the carriage pulled to a lurching stop. The cobblestone streets here were uneven. Loren cast a glance out the window. This area of Fhirdiad was filthy. Even with the expensive layer of glass separating you from the outside, you could smell the oppressive odor of unwashed bodies and waste. Loren quickly moved to the door facing the street, moving to open the opposite door that Walt would.

“I’m sorry, please, I want to make this right,” you said, your fingers glancing against her arm as she passed. Loren stiffened, looking back at you a final time.

“Then _burn_.”

With that, she left. A second after her door slammed shut, the other opened, Walt peering in with a look of concern.

“Mistress, are you all right?” he asked. Whatever he saw on your face made his expression tighten with anger. “Did she harm you?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head forcefully. “I’m fine. I would like to go home now, please.”

“Did she blackmail you in any way, or ask for something? Her kind... Always looking to get money without having to work for it...” He shook his head, anger clear in his aged features.

“She didn’t want anything,” you said. That wasn’t true, though. She wanted to hurt you like she had been hurt. 

“Oh… Very well, mistress. We shall return, then.” Walt paused, as if wanting to say more, but he didn’t. He closed the door, shutting you back into solitary silence. A place you’d always been. And you cried. You hated yourself for it, for each streaky tear that stained your mourning dress and for each ugly sob you couldn’t contain. You hadn’t cried much at the funeral, or when you heard of your father’s passing. You hadn’t mourned because you didn’t know how, but now you knew. This was loss. You didn’t know what you were losing, but you felt it ripped away from your soul as clearly as you would feel a knife break skin.  
  


**Entr'acte II  
  
**

A book laid open in front of you, the pages cluttered with interesting words and fascinating illustrations, the very reason you had come to study at Garreg Mach. The classroom was quiet, save for Professor Byleth’s lowered voice on the other side of the room and the occasional flip of a page or scratch of quill on paper.

You wanted to be happy that you were all given the chance to move on, to forge a path forward in spite of all the strife you had encountered. And, by all accounts, it should have been the perfect atmosphere for your independent study of pegasi in order to ace your exam. But you weren’t, and it wasn’t. The silence, as ever, was something stiff and uncomfortable. Even here in Garreg Mach, it was something you feared.

Conand Tower’s brutal battle had taken place nearly a fortnight ago, but your memory of the cacophonous final aria was crisp and clear. Miklan’s screams of pure agony, the cataclysmic crashing of thunder, and that bestial roar that had bounced from wall to wall as his body was overtaken by the hulking form of a monster. Even here, even in your own arcadia, death followed.

And, as if that weren’t bad enough, Miklan wasn’t just a rogue bandit causing trouble. He had been Sylvain’s estranged older brother, cast out from succession because he lacked a Crest. Something about that hit far too close to home, but you dared not think of why. Even within your own turmoil, there were certain things you had to be spared if you wished to go on. Miklan was another death close to those you held dear, one more ghost to haunt the living. It was hard to not see that as a bad omen. How far could death’s creeping touch get before stealing away the ones you cared about the most? Already you feared its indirect touch, a deep-set terror when you remembered Dimitri’s question in Magdred Way.

His blue eyes had plead so desperately with you for an answer when he asked about the ones left behind. Pleading for an answer the both of you knew you didn’t have. You didn’t know. You had never been able to help the ones left behind.

Closing your eyes to that sinking feeling, you shook your head, trying to reason with your thoughts. This was different. Miklan wasn’t a good person. Sylvain was seemingly lackadaisical about the entire thing, but from his limited accounts, that much was clear to you. He was a cruel man. Sylvain hurt, but he would be fine without him. He could move on from this. Ashe was recovering, too. Professor Byleth helped with that even if you couldn’t, but you didn’t dwell on your own uselessness. Everyone would be okay, and that was what mattered.

Plus, everyone was feeling better after saving Flayn and Professor Manuela from the Death Knight. For all of the horrors of that ordeal, the happy ending made it easier to bear. Not that it was so easy to shrug off the memory of the Flame Emperor, or his strangely modulated voice, but life had to continue on as normal, didn’t it? At least on the surface. And, as you tried to tell yourself, that was a good thing. You were glad for it.

Class was called, and every member of the Blue Lions house - including the newest addition of Flayn - was in attendance. Professor Byleth stood on the other side of the room, working with Mercedes, Annette, and Flayn on more advanced magic. The rest of you were meant to be working on independent study. Ignoring the things you could not change as normalcy fought to return in place. Everyone was getting ready for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion next month, which would hopefully be your first real fight on the back of your pegasus Siobhan. Hopefully.

If only your thoughts were so distracted.

Instead, your eyes wandered upwards, to where Dimitri sat ahead of you. He and Sylvain shared a table, and since Dimitri sat on the far end you could vaguely see his face. He was, of course, utterly concentrated on the book in front of him. Dimitri had been hard to find lately, leaving you to your own devices when the haunting silence and unhappy thoughts drove you from your bed. There were new dangers that sparked new curfews, but you had learned a few sneaky tricks all those years back when your father more frequently stayed in the mansion. Not that it mattered when you couldn’t find Dimitri anyway.

When you asked about it, Dimitri had been evasive in answering. Studying, he said. You didn’t dare pry - everyone had the right to their secrets after all - but you would have been lying if you said it didn’t hurt. You weren’t entitled to the time the two of you spent nocturnally training. Obviously not. It was selfish of you to even feel that way. And yet-

“ _Melodies of Faerghus Opera Omnia_ ,” Sylvain muttered, his voice mostly lowered in a sign of deference to the hushed atmosphere of the classroom, pulling you from your thoughts. He had turned to sit backward in his chair in front of you and pulled out one of the thicker volumes from your stack, finally gotten tired of the tedium of silent study. “That sounds interesting.”

“Hey!” you said in something approaching a stage-whisper, snapping to attention and reaching out for your book. He held it just out of reach, flipping through the pages. It was a new volume, one you were quite proud of having gotten your hands on. It had taken no less than a dozen book merchants to even recognize the volume’s name, let alone be able to find you a copy. Melodies of Faerghus was penned by a scholar musician compiling all non-religious music she found across the country, one of the most comprehensive of its kind. Realizing you’d drawn attention from those around you, you lowered your voice and forced yourself to relax. Sylvain, at least, had an appreciation for lyric and verse as you did. Still, you felt protective over the volume. “Please, be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” Sylvain said, earning a soft snort from Ingrid sitting beside you, although she didn’t look up. “What is this anyway?” Sylvain asked.

You cast a shy glance to Ingrid and Dimitri. Everyone knew of your affinity for music, but that didn’t mean any of them appreciated it. The arts weren’t very popular among most knights, a fact you had come to realize the hard way.

“It’s a compilation of songs and poetry composed by the people of Faerghus,” you whispered, leaning forward so only he could hear you.

Sylvain looked surprised, hefting the book appraisingly. “I didn’t think there would be so much.”

“I doubt that’s even a fraction of what there actually is, most music and poetry is never put to paper,” you told him. A shame, you thought. What got left behind the most was folk music and lullabies, personal songs composed lovingly out of the silence to entertain the people around them. Even in this book, there wasn’t much of that sort of thing.

“There’s a whole chapter for House Gauteir?” Sylvain asked in amazement, his eyebrows raised.

“Yes, all major houses of Faerghus have one,” you said as you leaned forward to see what page he was on. “Some were written for the families when they were granted patronage, but many stem from the legends.” The legends like the Gautier Holy Relic, the Lance of Ruin. Your face scrunched, that wasn’t a good thought.

“Even House Galatea?” Ingrid suddenly asked. You hadn’t realized she’d been listening until that moment, but found yourself tensing up at her voice. Ingrid was many things, but stealthy was not one of them. Even when she tried to whisper it was jarring.

“Of course,” you responded belatedly, suddenly feeling quite sheepish. Ingrid liked heroic tales just fine, but not anything so feminine and frivolous as music or poetry. Besides, she was a model student, you could feel her displeasure at the distraction.

“You haven’t heard the Rift of House Daphnel?” Sylvain asked her. “Sheesh Ingrid, even _I_ know that one.”

“My apologies for being far too busy being _productive_ ,” she said, a bit of ice in her tone. Sylvain was too focused on the book to notice it, though, enthusiastically flipping through the pages.

“Hey, here’s a song about King Lambert,” he said, leaning towards his deskmate. That got Dimitri’s attention, although you realized by his stiff posture that he’d probably been listening the whole time. “It’s about the Invasion of Sreng… _Oh._ ” You didn’t have to look at the page to know which poem he was on. The Conquest of King Lambert was a lengthy piece with lovingly detailed descriptions about the king, including some of the most... Creative metaphors you’d ever read. Sylvain looked, as all men should, equal parts disturbed and impressed at what was written.

“My father had music about him?” Dimitri asked, turning around. His expression wasn’t amused, but he didn’t look like he was going to reprimand any of you. Yet.

“Of course,” you responded.

“He has his own chapter,” Sylvain noted.

“Really?” Dimitri leaned in further.

“Actually…” you said. “Well, it’s a bit funny. King Lambert didn’t entertain court musicians, but that actually wound up making him more desirable.”

“Sounds like more than a few girls I’ve known,” Sylvain responded with a grin.

Ingrid was going to respond, you could feel her preparing the biting comment at your side, but you spoke before she could. “That’s actually a perfect comparison.”

“Wait, really?” Sylvain asked, looking up at you with widened eyes. You couldn’t tell if he was more surprised that you agreed, or that you didn’t take the bait of his joke.

“Well, musicians want attention. Especially when they’ve been rejected. And then…” You paused as you realized just how fitting his metaphor was. “Well, I’ve learned recently that musicians can be a bit like a woman scorned. A particularly catchy song can ruin a man’s reputation, you know.” 

The Kingdom’s regent, Dimitri’s uncle, had more than a few scathing critiques about his conduct floating around. Nothing put to paper, of course, as that would be far too dangerous. Unfortunately, music traveled as fast as rumor did, and it was twice as catchy.

“Sounds like you should be more careful, Sylvain,” Ingrid said. “I wonder what they’d put in a song about you...”

“No doubt they’d sing of his dedication,” Dimitri said. Sylvain looked surprised, beginning to smile before Dimitri continued, “A man solely dedicated to his pursuit of excess.”

“Hey-” Sylvain protested, but Ingrid chimed in before he could defend himself.

“They’d sing of his strict code of honor. Sylvain Jose Gautier: A man without.”

“Now Ingrid, that’s just unfair.” Sylvain turned to you with an overly dramatized hurt expression, closing your book and setting it back on the table. “You don’t agree with them, do you? You’d write a good song about me, right?” He was feigning a look of hurt, but in his eyes, you saw something you hadn’t seen since the whole ugly business with Miklan had begun, something warm. It made you smile.

“I would say that Sylvain is like… A red-hot flicker of flame,” you said, the wheels in your head turning fast.

“Because... I’m warm and inviting? Utterly desirable on a cold winter’s night?” Sylvain asked.

“Because you restlessly jump from place to place, uncontrollably consuming whatever you can and making everyone’s eyes water.”

Ingrid actually laughed, breaking all facade of your hushed conversation. Even Dimitri gave you a little snort of a reaction, one that he quickly stifled when the sounds brought Professor Byleth’s attention, finally, to your little group. He covered his mouth and turned away, although his blue eyes danced with amusement. Byleth’s stern look was quick in making the rest of you return to your assigned tasks with unspoken obedience.

You kind of felt bad for what you had said about Sylvain. It wasn’t that you actually meant it, but it had sounded vaguely clever at the moment. Then again, you couldn’t get it out of your head that his smile had looked real enough, even while being teased. And Dimitri had kind of laughed, too.

Besides, the whole conversation brought to mind an important thought. One day, most of your friends would inherit the stuffy titles of the great men and women from your book. They would have songs aplenty written for them, especially if they did even half as many great things as you imagined they would.

One day, Dimitri would be king and have an entire library composed in his honor. 

There was something there. A desire, maybe.

But first, you needed to master flying a pegasus into battle and win the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Your spirits were decidedly raised as you picked up where you left off.  
  
 **Entr’acte III  
  
** Siobhan, your brilliant pegasus, was soft beneath the brush you used to tend to her shiny coat. You had started with the longer strands around her legs, but now you were working out the fur at the base of her wings. It was a kind of reward for her. She had been entirely instrumental in you becoming a pegasus knight, after all. 

A major success. You felt hollow.

The feeling would pass. The bad feelings always did, you just had to stay busy, keep on doing things. 

The letter in your pocket was heavy. Impossibly heavy. 

“I was wondering where you had gone,” a voice said. Not just any voice, but one you were certain you knew better than any other. Dimitri looked excited to see you, coming to stand beside Siobhan as well. She nuzzled into his hand when he petted her face. He had a way of making the horses and pegasi like him. You could relate.

“Do you need something?” you asked. 

“Only to congratulate you,” Dimitri said. “Professor Byleth allowed me to watch the test, you were quite spectacular. You should be proud of yourself.”

You imagined it said a lot about your mood that his praise didn’t spark up any bubbling butterflies within your stomach or even the slightest bit of heat in your cheeks. “Thank you,” you said, carefully running the brush over Siobhan’s glossy white fur, focusing on the task to avoid looking at him. His gaze still burned into your face, studying you intently. 

“Are you all right?” Dimitri asked. Your movements stuttered although it was a perfectly natural question.

“I am,” you said. A very poor lie, not that you were much of a liar. The problem was, it shouldn’t have been a lie at all. You had every reason in the world to be happy, didn’t you? 

Dimitri wasn’t fooled, you doubted you could fool anyone. If your intentions were to convince him of your well-being, you were doing a terrible job. If you wanted him to leave you alone, you could have told him. But you did neither, conflicted and unsure of _what_ you wanted.

“I apologize if I’m overstepping, but it doesn’t seem that way to me.” Dimitri hesitated before adding, “I won’t intrude if you don’t wish to tell me, but please know that I’m always willing to listen.”

That brought your attention back to his face, an odd feeling of surprise squeezing your heart. Someone to listen to you. Not your music or stories, but... You. Feeling almost exposed by the offer, you searched his eyes for some indication that he wasn’t being genuine, but all you found was concern. It made your heart stutter.

Bit by bit, your expression fell, your shoulders drooping. Siobhan shook herself off a bit, a bit indignant and antsy. She had already been cleaned up after your test, and the grooms were much better at maintaining her than you were. Brushing her had been a distraction, although it hadn’t worked in the slightest.

“I got a letter from my mother today, right after the test,” you finally said, leaning your forehead against Siobhan’s soft, warm neck, the coarse ends of her mane tickling your cheek. 

“Your mother?” Dimitri asked. He paused, then regretfully added, “I just realized, I don’t know much about your family.”

“I don’t speak of them often,” you said softly, displacing some of Siobhan’s mane.

“Are you estranged?”

Estranged. That suited your situation, didn’t it? At the same time, it wasn’t entirely true. You realized right then that you _could_ tell Dimitri, even if it hurt, even you never told anybody else. You could.

Even worse, you _wanted_ to. The words arranged themselves easily in your head, accompanied by the dread of the unavoidable.

Opening your eyes, you pulled away from Siobhan’s warm body. She looked at you with her gentle brown eyes, so stark against the brilliant white. A war animal, a genuine beauty, but also a soft soul. The both of you knew she’d only endured your brushing because she wanted to help your mood, she was never so patient for the grooms. You patted her head affectionately, then stepped away to leave her to her own devices, looking at Dimitri directly.

“My father is dead,” you said, speaking bluntly out of fear the words wouldn’t come out otherwise. It felt wrong to say, like uttering a particularly dirty swear. Admitting to an unforgivable wrong.

“Oh, I’m… I’m sorry,” Dimitri responded with a frown, his eyes full of sorrow. Pity, maybe, although it wasn’t an emotion you minded from him, even if it was undeserved. “I had no idea.”

You shook your head, trying to wave away the guilt you heard beneath those words. “I don’t really talk about it,” you said quickly, attempting to backtrack the dramatics, to play it off. “Um... Can we sit?” you gestured vaguely towards the back way behind the stables, littered by convenient barrels and boxes. It was a popular place for slackers to hide.

Dimitri looked surprised but he didn’t argue as he followed you. Concealed by the shadows and the noises of the monastery somewhat deadened, you sat heavily on one of the barrels, almost surprised at how worn out your body felt.

“How long ago?” Dimitri asked as he sat beside you. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Two years,” you responded, the number coming to you easily. So long ago, yet the memories could feel so fresh sometimes. "My mother, when he died, something in her... I mean, she was never very stable, but after that she was…” You shook your head, the scattered words frustrating you as you tried to explain it. “The physician says that it’s an ailment of the mind. Madness.”

“So the letter…”

“It’s from her physician, updating me on her condition. She said that my mother has begun… Um... Cursing me. She blames me for my father’s death. He died to a troupe of bandits, and I guess hearing that I’m training in the art of combat set something off in her.” You shrugged helplessly, staring hard at the packed dirt of the ground to avert your eyes. Weakness washed through you, the embarrassingly hot weight of tears. You should have stopped talking, you wanted to stop, but you couldn’t. “What I hate the most is feeling angry with her. When I read the letter, I was so _mad_. I know it’s not her fault, and I know that she’s suffering more than I ever have.” Your voice lowered even further. “And I hate that I’m constantly finding excuses to not visit her, but I can’t go back to that place. I have nightmares of it, you know, even now.”

“That place?” Dimitri asked.

“My father’s mansion, my… Home.” That word was hollow, empty. You shook your head of it, suppressing the shiver that wanted to slither down your spine. “Sorry, I imagine that’s all pretty tiresome to hear about.”

Oddly, speaking _had_ helped you somewhat. Now that all of the words were out, your shoulders felt lighter when you straightened out from your unladylike slump. Speaking had given you a bit of perspective, something you nearly always lacked when trapped within the echo chamber of your own skull. 

"And it’s fine anyway. I won’t give up on her. As long as her heart is beating, I believe that there’s a way to make her better. Even if she scorns me… Or hates me. But I guess that’s why it’s so hard.” You sighed. “I just need to keep going.”

Dimitri didn’t say anything at first, allowing the silence to swell. He looked tense when you peeked over at him, filling you with a rush of anxiety. Had you said too much? Or said something wrong?

“I know a little of madness,” Dimitri told you hesitantly, haltingly. “Admittedly, not much, but… I doubt that she hates you. Grief and pain can twist a person’s mind, but I don’t believe that it’s an expression of their true character.” Earnestness edged by the shadow of exhaustion shone in Dimitri’s eyes when you looked at him. 

He meant what he said, but, more than that, he understood what he was talking about.

Madness induced by grief. 

You thought of Felix and his warning about the so-called ‘Boar Prince’, the title he’d given the dark side of Dimitri when they were putting out rebellions across Faerghus. That had been right after the death of Dimitri’s friends and family. What type of grief must he have been suffering then? You couldn’t even begin to guess.

“Thank you,” you said, wishing to say more but not knowing what.

“What is she like?” Dimitri asked before the silence could stretch too long. 

“She was... She would sing me a lullaby when I was very little. I don’t remember how it sounded anymore, but I remember how I felt when I heard it. It was like magic, setting the world to rights. When she sang, everything bad would just fade away. That’s who my mother is. She made music into magic, she made me believe that there’s a song that could fix anything, help anyone.” You could hardly remember that woman. The one who had loved you, who had sung to you. The one who had been failed first by your father, then by you. “That’s one of the reasons I love music,” you told Dimitri. “To remember her. I don’t want to forget, I feel like if I do…” You didn’t allow yourself to finish that sentiment. Failure. In so many ways, you had already failed her, but to forget altogether was the final blow, how could she come back then?

“I understand,” Dimitri said, keeping you from having to think of an end to that sentence. “It’s only once you forget your loved ones that they’re truly gone. It feels like a betrayal.” He paused, looking down at his boots. “Truthfully, I find it hard to remember my own mother - well, my stepmother, but she raised me as her son, cared for me as if I was her own.” Dimitri’s expression was haunted, the shadows casting his eyes in a hazy dark. “I worry that if I forget her as she truly was, if I can no longer remember her smile and laugh, I’ll have failed her. If I forget everything aside from her sadness, I’ve lost her completely.”

His eyes cleared up, focusing as his attention returned to you.

“Ah, my apologies,” he said, his voice returned to its normal cadence. “I didn’t mean to talk so much.”

“I don’t mind,” you told him. "Truly. I appreciate you listening to me, and if you need someone… I can’t promise any good advice, but I will listen. I’d love to listen to... Whatever you say, really. I’ve spent so much of my life alone, and you… You make me feel like I’m not, so... Don’t be sorry.”

Dimitri looked at you. Something meaningful lingered in his expression, but couldn’t read it well enough to know. It felt like you had said something wrong. It was awkward, right there in your shadowy nook that stank of the stables and musty wood.

“I’m sorry, that was too much, wasn’t it,” you apologized. Dimitri blinked.

“No - don’t be. Just now, I realized that I don’t know nearly as much about you as I thought. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“After I just told you not to be?” you asked. “But I.. I guess I feel the same, you know. You’re quite an enigma, Your Highness.”

“Enigma?” he repeated, regarding the word nearly as well as he had ‘whimsical’ all those months back. The memory made you smile, a real smile. And just like that, any serious threads of the conversation were lost. “Well, I suppose I can rectify that, if you’re interested in a rather amusing story where I nearly ended up as bear bait.”

“You’re lying,” you said. 

Dimitri smiled ruefully. “Unfortunately not. See, it all began when I was called for an impromptu hunting trip-” 

For the first time, the flow of conversation between the two of you was easy and natural, as if some kind of dam had been breached. You swapped stories, some of your youth and some that had happened since your arrival at Garreg Mach. None of them were serious, and that was good. Liberating, even.

By the time either of you realized how late it had gotten, your stomach was growling for a skipped lunch _and_ dinner. Dimitri was apologetic, but you felt happier than you had in a while. Affection, bursting and warm, had replaced the sadness. 

You wished for it to never end. 


	5. Symphony Vittoria Act II

**Symphony Vittoria  
Opus 3, No. 3  
III. Minuet**

The late fall sun was hot on the crown of your head, doing nothing to help with the overwhelming heat of exertion that washed over you as you climbed off of Siobhan’s back and onto your own jelly-like legs. If not for the helpful Church aid, you likely would have fallen right then and there, collapsed onto the ground in a victorious puddle of sore muscles and elation.

“We won!” you said as you stumbled, catching yourself just in time, a goofy grin on your face.

“Congratulations,” the armorer said, her voice dry as she helped relieve you of your weapons and get your face mopped up of sweat. She said something else, but your ears were ringing. There was so much noise around you, the organized chaos of hundreds of people doing hundreds of different things. Victory, it all sounded like victory. Water was given to you, the armor fitted with straps to keep you in the saddle pulled away and leaving you lighter.

And then you left, far too excited to stop yourself. If anyone called for you to stop, you didn’t hear, slipping through the crowd on light feet.

Pegasi were not horses, but the two were grouped together more often than not. Perhaps the elegant Siobhan would be unhappy with the generalization, but you were glad for it as you made your way through the busy staging area. At some point in the fight, Dimitri had dismounted from his favored steed, but he always returned for the destrier. Not only out of affection for the beast, but out of fear that its fractious nature would harm those who came to collect him. In that respect, the two were well suited. And easy to find.

“Dimitri!” you called, rushing towards him as soon as you spotted his familiar blue cape. Both he and the magnificent destrier turned to your approach, an unfriendly set of dark eyes and an interested pair of blue. “That was amazing!” you told him, excitement launching you into a rant before your feet even stilled. “You should have seen the look on Hubert’s face when I got him out, he was so mad! If Seteth hadn’t called it I think he would have attacked you when you were fighting Edelgard. I’m glad he didn’t, obviously, but don’t worry, I would have protected you. Nobody would have been able to interfere with that fight… Gosh, it was _so cool_! Edelgard was waving that giant axe around like it was _nothing_ , but you swiped in with your lance and the both of you moved so _fast_! It was intense! And now…” You laughed giddily, out of breath and your thoughts disorganized. “I’m just so happy that we won!”

“I feel the same,” Dimitri responded, his smile glowing. “Although… I cannot fathom from where you gain all this energy.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t you ever grow weary?”

“Maybe… Sometimes,” you replied with a breathless laugh. “But… I’ll get ahold of myself.” More as an act than anything, you pulled in an exaggerated breath, holding yourself still from the jittery shake of adrenaline.

“Oh no, that wasn’t a critique!” Dimitri told you. “Your spirit is admirable. It reminds me of something I feel I had nearly forgotten. And in any case, I owe you for taking out Hubert. For a moment there I was afraid I was done for by rushing in so recklessly.”

“Or maybe you just knew that I’d be right behind you,” you joked. “By now you must know that you can always count on that.”

“Is that so?” Dimitri asked, one of his eyebrows raising in a playful way. 

“Sure,” you answered easily. “Still, I do like the idea of having you owe me. I guess I’ll have to think of a really good favor, huh?”

“Whatever you want,” Dimitri responded, his voice equally as earnest as it was teasing. How he managed such a balance, you didn’t know.

Then, without thinking, you asked, “What if I asked for you to kiss me?”

The brazen words were playful, your inhibitions melted beneath the swell of glory. If you were in your right mind, certainly you would have restrained yourself. Especially because the situation wasn’t romantic. At all. The two of you were sweaty and hot from a recently won battle and surrounded by tired animals, tired students, and frantic grooms. The air stank of all three groups, as well as the dissipating oily smoke of magic fire. The situation wasn’t suited to the dizzy elation you felt, or the feeling tightening in your sore abdomen. But it was like you were alight, floating. Full of affection and joy and glory.

Dimitri blushed before you could even think to be embarrassed about what you said, the color obvious on his pale cheeks as a compliment to his shocked expression. He didn’t say anything. And then he continued not to say anything, awkwardness growing. Your heart dropped into your stomach. In a splash of iridescent color, the soap bubble surrounding your thoughts popped.

“That was… A really bad joke, wasn’t it?” you asked. Fidgeting, you raised a nervous hand to mess with your bound hair, pulling the tail a bit tighter as you let out a forced laugh to get rid of the tension. Trying to save face. Not that it really helped. Regret was tangy, it left you sore. Dimitri still looked stunned. Conflicted. Maybe a bit embarrassed still. “Um, anyway, a true knight is noble and brave without any ulterior motives or desire for riches. And besides, today was so much fun that winning is… It’s the icing on the cake.”

“A joke,” Dimitri said doubtfully, adjusting his posture in a distinctly awkward way. His eyes were a bit too piercing, conflicted. Then they were pulled up, distracted by something behind you. “Oh, I… I’m afraid I must go, Professor Byleth asked me to meet with him once I was done here.”

You nodded quickly, glad for a break. “Yes, I should go help, uh, get things ready to leave.”

Dimitri looked apologetic, but moved to leave, pausing only a moment before departing. His expression was conflicted. Step uncertain, he cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly before speaking. “May we speak later?”

Your heart jolted. You couldn’t tell what that question implied, but you answered all the same on something like instinct. “Sure.”

Dimitri nodded, a firm militaristic nod, before departing. His dark-haired destrier looked at you with an unimpressed look, tossing his head in displeasure as his master left him.

“That was bad, wasn’t it?” you asked the beast of an animal. The destrier, nearly as royal as his rider, exhaled in a way that sounded suspiciously like a snort of derision.

**Symphony Vittoria  
Opus 3, No. 3 cont.  
III. Minuet**

It was only after the celebratory gathering of the Blue Lions dispersed that you realized that you had left your cloak in the dining hall. Well, more specifically, you realized it when you reached your room’s door and didn’t have a key. The first indication should have been that you were cold, but who could expect such elevated thought from your mushy brain after the day you had?

Without the glowing companionship of your class, you wanted nothing more than to toss yourself to the soft surface of your bed and lose your mind to a well-deserved rest. Staring dejectedly at the steadfast barrier, you considered the pros and cons of trying to pick the lock. Unfortunately, your training with Ashe hadn’t provided full comprehension in the thieving arts. Or, honestly, much comprehension at all. Then you considered simply smashing down the door. It almost seemed tempting until you realized it would probably make Professor Byleth upset if you were to deface monastery property.

There was nothing for it. With a dejected sigh, you turned on your heel and retraced your steps back into the monastery’s grand hall. Alone this time, since Mercedes and Annette had returned to their own rooms. The grounds and interior were mostly empty. When the heavy door shut behind you, each of your footsteps echoed and the flickering light of magically flared sconces splayed your shadow in all directions. The emptiness was slightly unnerving, especially since it wasn’t obscenely late. But everyone was wrung out and worn from the days battle and subsequent excitement. Most of the knights had left early in the night, leaving the professors in charge so they could make their own merry with coarser endeavors and liquor.

Students, of course, indulged in no such thing, even in the name of celebration. The monastery’s deep wells and windmills drew sweet, pure water from beneath the mountains, serving as the respectable replacement to the wine every establishment in Faerghus served in place of the often unsafe water. How odd it had been to learn that the custom was not mimicked everywhere, even seen as taboo by some. In any case, the rule against liquor in the dining hall was probably for the best. One of the few times you’d ventured out to one of the town’s taverns in your spare evenings, you were able to see firsthand how messily drunk those from other countries could get after drinking even the mildest of alcohol. 

Entering the dining hall, you began to creep through the dark with a bent posture to scope out each bench for your misplaced cloak. The position strained your sore muscles, muscles you hadn’t even known could get sore before assuming mounted combat atop a pegasus. At least you spotted your cloak fairly easily.

You didn’t linger after that. Although you didn’t subscribe to superstitions like that precocious mage from Golden Deer did, there was something haunting in the air now that everyone was gone. An undefined sense of emptiness. Not too long before, the dining hall had been bright and warm and full of sound, but now the only reminder of the night’s celebration was the faint traces of excitement and a mess.

But, without a doubt, the worst part of silence was the way it threw your thoughts right back at you. Without distraction, your conversation with Dimitri returned to mind. The entire night you had been able to shrug it off as momentary madness, a state of drunken delirium from the excitement of fighting and winning, but in the dark, you weren’t so easily able to cast it aside. He hadn’t spoken to you at much throughout the celebration or so much as met your eye afterward.

Shrugging on your forgotten cloak, you left the dining hall through the fishing stone laid fishing area, not desiring to walk back through the main hall. Besides, the air was smooth and fresh and, despite the high altitude, it wasn’t too cold. Not yet at least. In the north, the night would require you to be bundled up in wools and fur, drinking medicinal tea for fear of catching ill. But not here in the goddess’ blessed lands. You took in a deep breath, feeling the way the expanding air pushed at your sore muscles. You really were tired. Completely worn out.

Honestly, it was a coincidence that your chosen path also took you near the entrance to the second story dormitory staircase. Not at all intentional. Why, then, were you not surprised when someone called your name? No, not someone. You didn’t need to look to know the familiar voice, an achingly familiar sound. Almost like you had expected him to call out to you. If you believed in fate, and you were only partially certain that you did, you’d have no choice but to believe that the two of you were fated to meet solely by the will of the night.

Nerves sparked to life in your stomach, but you turned to face the call with a smile for the man to which the voice belonged. Sparse lamplight was warm on Dimitri’s skin as he moved to approach you, shining in the gold of his hair and highlighting the signs of weariness on his face. Taking the steps with ease you were sure your sore legs couldn’t possibly attain, Dimitri came to a stop a socially acceptable distance away. If you were to take a single step, you would be in his arms reach. Another would ensure that you’d have to look up to meet his eyes, perhaps you could make out their color even in the dark. And another after that would put you close enough to touch, for him to feel the heat of your burning cheeks.

Energy rippled in the space between you. Something about Dimitri’s expression, the way he had said your name. Something that made you utterly and entirely aware, sensitized to the air on your skin and the way your sore abdominal muscles tightened despite the way it strained them. Something about the embarrassment of what you had said after the battle.

“You’re up late,” you said, still wearing the silly nervous grin you couldn’t force away. It was a pointless remark, considering you knew exactly how little he actually slept, but you were far too flustered for anything particularly imaginative.

“Ah, yes,” Dimitri agreed. Formal. “Once again I find myself unable to sleep…” He hesitated, frowning. “Actually, I wanted to speak with you first. If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“It’s… It’s about earlier,” Dimitri said.

“I remember,” you said, heart dropping. Soft words, achingly nervous words. Where was all your confidence now? It seemed all you had was the relentless flutter of butterflies and a head dizzy with anticipation. “I just was so excited, and I spoke without thinking and I’m really, really sorry… I don’t suppose we could just pretend it never happened?” You offered him a tight, hopeful smile.

“That’s not something I can so easily disregard,” Dimitri said, his brow furrowing. “I know sometimes people say or do things in the heat of the moment that they might not otherwise, and I swear I won’t pursue this any farther if that is the case. After all, I’m sure there are many other boys in the academy who would be far preferable, and besides, I’m…” He let the words lapse there, frowning. A moment later, that haunted look passed and his eyes rose back to yours. “Either way, for my own peace of mind, I felt that I must ask what you meant by that request.”

You let out a little bubble of laughter in response, you couldn’t help it. The entire thing was just ridiculous. Boys preferable to him? What you meant, when your words had been so blatant? “Isn’t it obvious?” you asked. “I just thought that you weren’t interested, which is fine! I didn’t want to put you in that situation because I know you’re… I know you already have so many things to deal with and it’s not like I can offer someone like you anything of value, and most of the time I’m sure I’m just an annoyance anyway, so-”

“You’re not an annoyance,” Dimitri said urgently, taking a step forward. “Please don’t think such a thing. And as far as ‘value’, well, I’m not sure what I would do without you. What any of us would do without you. Your positivity and your smile have more value than you know. That’s why I worry that I…” He frowned again as if he was torn up about something. “I’m afraid I can’t give you what you want. I’m in no position to make any promises regarding the future. To do so would only be selfish.”

“I don’t understand,” you said. “If you don’t… like me, you can be honest about how you feel.” Even if it hurt, there was nothing worse than the not knowing. Probably. Maybe.

Dimitri’s expression shifted, his head tilting and lip turning up with the beginning of a smile. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, delivering the repeated quip with the stilted humor you’d grown used to. Despite that, in Dimitri’s expression, you saw a mirror of your nerves. You saw something that was at once cautious and questioning, binding the whatever fire that burned beneath. You saw intensity in its truest form. Control, and restriction. Doubt, and a question. Hesitation before action.

It was dizzying. The lack of sleep, the physical fatigue, the joy of victory, and now this. Words couldn’t describe the feeling, the elevation burning in the base of your skull, the shiver holding still at the small of your back, the muscles fluttering and tightening. Affection, pure and undiluted. Too much, bursting from the seams. Much more than you could ever tell him of.

“Will you kiss me?” you asked.

Like that, his hesitation melted away. Self control overridden by impulse. Dimitri took the last two steps, coming close enough for him to feel the heat of your blushing cheeks, to smell the soap you’d used to wash your hair after returning to the monastery. Close enough for his hand to cradle your head with overly careful movements, for your own to raise tentatively to his cheek and shoulder. Close enough for his lips to meet yours.

And it was lyrical. Poetic in every sense that it was not. Chaste, nothing like the enthusiastic and messy kissing you’d seen others engage in. Awkward in the way of two partners trying to learn a dance for the first time. Sweet because when you breathed in, Dimitri filled your senses. His hands, his body, his lips, all of them so close, yours for that moment.

Too soon it ended, leaving you starry eyed, dizzy, grinning like a lunatic.

Dimitri let his hands drop, taking a half step away to give you space. “I’m sorry, that was forward of me.”

“It’s okay to be forward, you know,” you said. “And sometimes being selfish… Well, it’s not always a bad thing.”

Dimitri weighed those words, then let out a heavy breath, shaking his head. Closing himself off from you. “I’m not so sure that’s true. Not for me, at least.” He caught himself after a moment, adding, “That’s not to say that I’m displeased with this. With you. That said… It looks as if you’re about to fall over. Today was an exhausting day, perhaps both of us could use a bit of rest.”

You hadn’t even noticed the way you were wobbling on your feet, unsteady. “Are you actually going to sleep?” you asked him.

“I think I might. Finally.”

You smiled. “Well, until we meet again in the waking world.”

“Until then,” Dimitri said, his head tipping politely.

Parting was bittersweet, your stomach lit aflame with a final glance back at him. That image kept you company all the way back. And although you had a thousand thoughts to keep you awake, you didn’t even get changed from your clothes before unconsciousness claimed you.

**Symphony Vittoria  
Opus 3, No. 4  
IV. Finale**

It was a full moon, the first since the Blue Lion’s so-called victory at Remire Village. Even with the added illumination, the sky was somehow just as large and unfathomable as the abyss that sprawled beneath your feet. With the horizon so dark, there was practically no difference between them, no dividing line to say what was of earth and what was of the heavens. Only you, the darkness, and the absolute unknowable.

And your music, of course.

The air was cold as winter continued to cast its witching spell across the lands, and a seat on the top of the fence edging the sheer cliff at the corner of one of Garreg Mach’s courtyards was probably not the most comfortable or safe spot, but you had no desire to leave. Central Fodlan’s cold season wasn’t even half as brutal as it was in Faerghus. Besides, the full moon made you wonder, made you dream. Was the goddess really praying up there in the heavens, as legend of the Ethereal Moon would say? You could almost imagine it. The goddess in all her magnificent splendor among the stars, praying for peace and prosperity, for safety and calm.

That begged a rather odd question, though. To whom did the divine pray?

Either way, you performed for the occasion. Stray chords and soft melodies. Gentle notes that echoed against mountainous drop hidden in the dark below. Slow, weaving tunes that reverberated and repeated in the silence back to you. Or, perhaps, it was the silence itself that was rejecting the noise which disturbed it. You played for the abyss that stretched beneath your throne at the top of the world. You played for the billows of fog that crawled up from the dark, set alight and lustrous from the tender caress of the full moon hanging right above. You played to cease your thoughts as they whirled unendingly, you played in an attempt to remember the warmth that had burned so delightfully in your chest before.

Poking out from the scarf you’d pulled over your face, the tip of your nose was red, and your fingers were clumsy and stiff from the chill. But it was much, much better than silence. Absence was agony, quiet was cruel. For a while, you’d driven away the silence of the night with training. Dimitri hardly ever said anything, but there was a weight to the companionship and ritual of the entire affair. Since the brutal end of the previous month, you hadn’t seen him nearly at all.

You told yourself that it was fine. Dimitri was as the moon, a soul shining in soft radiance existing in a cycle of shifting patterns amidst the nuanced darkness of night. Waxing and waning with each pass. Bright and alluring sometimes, drawing you in with his laugh and contradicting sense of humor, with the liquid warmth you’d felt when his lips had met yours, but shuttered and turbulent on the others, hiding half in the dark and pulling away from you as the horrors of things hiding in the shadows overcame him. Distant and unknowable, something to love without expectation.

If only. Things had been going so well after that fateful night, your heart warm with joy in the wake of the Blue Lion’s victory at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Or at least you thought so. You hadn’t expected Dimitri to actually court you after a single kiss, or to treat you any differently than he had before, and he hadn’t. It was all you could hope for that he’d keep you around. But now the memory of his lips against yours was tinged by regret. Regret when you thought of Dimitri’s outburst outside of Remire and the subsequent slip of his mood and mentality, the way that he avoided you and your silly girlish crush and idealistic desires and annoyingly mundane wishes like a partner to the upcoming White Heron Ball and a calloused and strong hand to hold in yours.

You strummed a happy chord to counteract the bitter ache of that thought. A happy chord that became a melody. Nothing at first. That was the way of music, wasn’t it? Something from nothing, song from silence. Now, without even thinking about it, you began to play a song for the moon. You weren’t thinking about it, not really. You’d practiced this song a thousand times over in order to get it just right because the moon deserved something perfect. Another chord, a bit clumsy with cold, climbing it out to create a steady instrumental for the sung melody, now replaced with the soft voice of the lyre. No longer happy, the tune wept with the faint edge of melancholy.

You heard the approach of footsteps before the voice could startle you, your fingers coming to a harsh halt mid-way through. Combat training had taught you to be constantly aware of your surroundings, even while relaxed. Especially when there were such wicked villains strutting about the area. At the very least, it saved you from the undesirable fate being scared into a deadly plunge towards the void beneath you once the voice startled you, although you couldn’t help but mourn the loss of that blissful ignorance for the slightest moment. It was for the best, anyway, that song was for-

“I thought I might find you here,” Dimitri said.

Surprise or no, hearing his voice made you tense up, quickly looking behind your shoulder as if to prove to yourself that it really was him. Then again, who else would it be at this hour? You chose your spots very carefully these days, picking out the holes in where knights might usually patrol. There was no sense in guarding an area that no creature, human or beast, would be able to sneak in through.

Although you hadn’t seen him much at all recently, Dimitri’s appearance filled you with an odd sense of Deja Vu. Something about the way he was bleached silver by the full moon and draped in shadow, finally paying respect to the cold weather by wearing a striking blue cloak more substantial than that of his uniform. You pulled your lyre and hands into the safe warmth of your cloak, submitting to the silence while a small voice in your head wondered if it was the song that had summoned him. It was his, after all, penned soon after the conversation in the classroom months back.

How many days had it been since Remire, since he’d begun avoiding you?

But that was an easy answer, for you at least. Far too many.

“Perhaps I should try to be more unpredictable,” you finally said with an attempt at being playful, pulling your face from the scarf so you could be heard.

“Oh, no, that wasn’t what I meant, I-” Dimitri’s quick apologetic response cut off soon after it began, as if he realized something. “That was a joke.”

“Not a very good one,” you gave him.

The momentary levity dissipated in a flash, awkwardness returning. Dimitri looked tired, although it would have been more surprising to see him looking well rested at this point. Cold had nibbled his cheeks and nose to a pink that was rather fetching, considering you were quite certain your cheeks were ruddy with the icy chill. Visible awkwardness, both in his expression and in his stance, mirrored your own.

“Did you… Need something?” you asked when he said nothing further. You regretted your tone immediately, but Dimitri didn’t seem to take it personally, addressing the question at face value in the rather blunt way he so often did.

“Yes, I wanted to speak to you… Do you mind if I sit?” he asked, gesturing to stretch of the stone fence beside you. The blocks were just wide enough to make for a seat, and not adorned like they were in other parts of the monastery. Your head tilted in curiosity, heart stuttering in a way you were far too familiar with by now, a reaction you were certain your body reserved for Dimitri.

“Of course,” you said. Dimitri, to your surprise, threw his legs over the wall to sit beside you, looking about twice as awkward in the position as you might have imagined him to. Although, it didn’t seem to be out of caution of the great height, but some odd dissonance between the polite prince he was raised to be and the exhausted soldier he so often carried himself as. Neither were likely to adopt the position of the romantic delinquent who would find solace in such a place.

“This is an… Interesting spot to practice,” Dimitri noted lightly, looking at the sky, the abyss, and the stretching image of the cathedral’s spires beyond. Although his tone was as proper as ever, his eyebrow quirked, lit quite well by the bulbous moon above.

“I started coming here to get over my fear of heights so I could ride Siobhan without wanting to cry, but…” You considered the view, feeling a bittersweet twinge in your heart at the sight. Raw beauty hurt when you weren’t expecting it. “It’s a good spot to think, you know? And please don’t say that it’s dangerous. I have a knife and everything, just in case.”

“That’s good to know, but I wasn’t going to lecture you,” Dimitri said. “I trust your capability.” After a moment, he bitterly added, “Besides, I’m hardly one to talk in that regard.”

“Oh,” you replied, unsure of what else to say. You hadn’t noticed it before, but he looked serious. Well, Dimitri almost always looked serious, but there were varying shades of it. This was the type of serious that had a furrowed brow and eyes full of all sorts of deep, conflicting thoughts. The weight of the world bearing down on his shoulders. Very kingly.

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior in Remire Village,” Dimitri finally told you.

You felt a harsh pull in your gut to hear him say that, as well as surprise. You blinked as if that would clear things up, but it didn’t.

“Apologize?” you asked.

“For my behavior, and… For frightening you.” His eyes closed with those softer words, that apology utterly sincere.  
  
“Frightening me?” you asked, your voice even softer with disbelief.  
  
“You’ve been avoiding me since then, haven’t you?” Dimitri asked. “I won’t force my company on you, but please know that what happened… How I behaved… I am deeply regretful that you witnessed that.” He let out a breath, the cold puffing in front of his lips like a little ghost. “An apology does little to mend it, I know, but I am truly sorry.”

“Dimitri…” you said after an extended stillness had settled, your voice timid as you tried to understand what he had just said. “I think you’ve misunderstood.”

“Misunderstood?” he asked doubtfully.

“Or maybe I’ve misunderstood? You didn’t scare me, Dimitri, that’s…” Ridiculous. It was a ridiculous thought. “I was… No, I _am_ worried for you,” you got out, stilted as you tried to voice what you thought. This wasn’t at all what you had thought this conversation would be, if it even happened at all. It was surreal, almost.

Dimitri still looked doubtful, measuring your words as mere placations. You knew him well enough by now to recognize that look in his eyes, even in the near dark. So you pushed forward, trying to make him understand, to convince him of your feelings without voicing them directly. A confession was the last thing Dimitri needed right now, not that you were even sure if you had the courage to confess what you felt. What you truly felt.

“After… What happened, you seemed so withdrawn and unhappy whenever I was around, so I thought you wanted to be left alone. That it was… What you needed. And I- I don’t really know how to help you, anyway.” That truth hurt to voice, ripping up the inside of your throat as it emerged from your mouth in a hushed tone. “Or if that’s even possible. I see the stress you’re under, the pain… You look so tired these days, and you mentioned that your head aches terribly, so I-”

“I’m fine,” Dimitri interrupted sharply, his body tense and eyes hard. Then he blinked. Sighed with another puff of cold air. His eyes lowered and shoulders drooped, a hand going to his temple. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t be concerned about me, I really am fine.”

“Even if that’s true… Well, please remember that I’m with you, whatever you need, however I can help. No matter what,” you said.

His eyes, the blue obscured by the sunken shadows cloaking them, held yours for a suspended moment. Looking for your loyalty? For honesty?

“The Professor looks at me the same way,” he finally said, looking back out into the dark. “So worried. He says I should get more rest… But how can I sleep when the despicable scoundrels who orchestrated the tragedy in Remire Village continue to draw breath? Not just them, but…” Dimitri hesitated. “I told you before that I lost my parents and many of my friends in the Tragedy of Duscur, do you remember?”

You nodded, not daring to speak.

“When I saw what was happening in Remire, I was reminded of the flames I saw four years ago in Duscur… Of the chaos that took my family and stole countless precious lives. And right then, my mind was overcome with that same rage… A complete and utter darkness.” He paused, looking out over the void below with hardened eyes, anger etched into his face. “Since that day in Duscur, my sole purpose has been to find justice for my family. Justice for all of those who have suffered and died at the hands of the Flame Emperor and his ilk. Inhuman monsters who prey on the innocent. That is the only reason I came to the Officer’s Academy.” Dimitri’s voice had become low, not the growl from Remire, but managing to be just as intense. “I will have revenge.”

Chills prickled nearly painfully against the insides of your sleeves and thick leggings, shuddering down your spine like ice water. Dimitri was being honest, there was no doubt in you that this was his truth, but you weren’t sure he’d ever seemed more unreachable as he did at that moment. The binding chains of the dead dictated his life. You had seen it before, feared it, but now you could see the fact starkly, plainly displayed in his eyes. He was willing to lose himself to the ghosts of those who had died, to his rage and his grief.

And you couldn’t do anything about it, could you?

“Dimitri,” you said softly, even mournfully. With a tentative touch, you pulled a hand out from your cloak to place it on his clenched fist where it sat between the two of you. Dimitri tensed up, his eyes swiveling to you as if surprised at your proximity. He blinked, and the tension bled out from his body, his fist unclenching. Clearing his throat, he adjusted his gaze, his body. Awkward once more. Your hand retreated, falling back onto your lap as you pulled away from him, allowing the moment to drop without any further comment.

Somewhere beyond the two of you, a breeze rustled the world of the dark into a faint stir, the sounds of it loud in comparison to the silence. You let out a slow, heavy breath, drawing in the cold air gratefully for the way it stung.

“Thank you for telling me. You know that…” You swallowed hard. “Anything you need of me, anything you ask… I’m with you to the end.”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you… Of any of you,” Dimitri responded. “This is my duty, my burden alone to bear.”

“You don’t need to be alone,” you said softly.

Dimitri pulled in a sharp breath, his gaze once again fixing on you. Was that surprise? Distaste? You didn’t know, and he didn’t respond. Soon after, he looked away. Another trail of silence began. Just you and him and the millions of things you didn’t know, that you wished so desperately to understand.

“I should probably attempt to get some rest,” Dimitri said after a span. “Professor Byleth has already made it clear that he’ll drag me out for tea first thing.” He sighed. “I appreciate the effort, but I can’t say that I’m in much of a mood to celebrate.”

Panic spiked through you.

“Dimitri,” you said, your voice just a touch too loud as you looked at him, blinking yourself to clarity as something in his words registered. “It’s your birthday today.”

“So it is,” he replied.

You were so stupid to have forgotten! Well, not entirely forgotten. You had known it was coming up, you just assumed that you wouldn’t get the chance to give him his gift considering how distant he had been. Now your lyre felt heavy in your arms, and the song for the moon began to tease your thoughts once more. It was one of the first real original compositions you’d ever penned, a song for a man who had an admitted indifference towards music. Admittedly, you had bonded a sort of understanding with all of the musicians who had composed for King Lambert while writing it.

“Before you go, um, so… I didn’t know what to get you…” you began nervously.

“I didn’t expect anything,” Dimitri said as if to soothe you. He meant it, too, a fact that made you feel rather sad.

“Well, I didn’t _get_ you anything, but I… I wrote you a song. It’s all I could think of that would be special, and I was thinking that when you’re king, every bard is going to write songs about you. Extolling your virtues and waxing endlessly about your battle prowess and jaw-dropping physique and kingly merits, but _I’d_ like to be the first.” You paused in your mess of words, frowning as the question struck you. “I am your first, aren’t I?”

Dimitri looked, unless you were way off the mark, flustered. After thinking about what you had just said, you felt a bit of that yourself. Luckily, he played it off well.

“The first to write a song about me? I believe you would be.”

“That’s a relief,” you said with an overly dramatic sigh, trying to cover for your embarrassment. It helped, kind of. “Anyway, I know you don’t love music and if you don’t want it that’s fine, but I thought that it’d be… Uh… Well, you know…”

“Can you play it?” he asked.

“Yes, if you want,” you said, feeling a rush of nerves. Of course, you had hoped for him to ask, but hoping for something and having it happen were different matters entirely. Every musician wanted a chance to show off, but you were only partially a musician and you wanted most desperately to impress Dimitri. More than the goddess, even.

“Please,” he said, gesturing for you to play. You couldn’t tell if he was just humoring you or not. You hoped he wasn’t.

“It’s a short song, so don’t worry… It’s a lullaby, actually,” you explained, pulling your lyre out from beneath your cloak and testing the strings and your fingers. Luckily, talking had given them a chance to melt a bit. “I, um, I didn’t think that a gaudy ballad or anything would suit you. Or anything too upbeat. Perhaps one day, but for now… Well, I thought it was the best fit.” Dimitri didn’t say anything to your rambled thoughts, and you were far too embarrassed to look at him directly to see what expression he might have been wearing. But that was fine, you’d only been talking in order to give yourself a chance to get everything in order. “It doesn’t have a name yet, either, but… Uh, here goes.”

You took in a deep breath, holding it for just a moment before letting it out in a slow stream. A set of singular notes began the song, the ones you had been tinkering with earlier. They built up into a chord. Simple, the best lullabies were simple, even their introductions. Then, striking one chord to hold, you began to sing.

“Now close your eyes and hush your cries, though the dark surrounds you.”

You struck another chord as you savored the words, holding onto the notes just slightly. This was the first time you’d ever tasted them like this, and they were bittersweet. Luckily, the sound of your voice was greatly helped by the sound bouncing to and fro about the cliffside below, being returned back to you by the dark.

“Many have gone, and the night’s been long, but soon the sun will rise.”  
  
With your right hand, you layered in more chords to add a more firm compliment to your melody. The lyre wasn’t creating a happy sound, but not one that was overtly sad. She sounded melancholic, in a way. Somber, but also giving you a driving force for the next lines.

“Now comes the cold and horrors untold, the world torn asunder.”

Your fingers climbed the strings of your lute into a rising glissando, the other set of fingers adding a faint droning note to work off of.

“But Prince of Blue….

By the goddess, it _was_ sad, wasn’t it? Dimitri. He was a tragic figure. Now more than ever you understood that as a fact.

“Stay brave, stay true…”

The discordant tri-tone shift downward propelled you forward, emotion pulling through your fingers and in your voice.

“The lion will prevail….”

Your voice pushed upwards a third, unraveling the melody into repeating itself.

“So don’t you cry…”

There was tension in the chord you hit, still. Unresolved conflict between the notes and the song, not one you had planned for, but it was right. Complete in the way that it was broken.

“Close your eyes…”

Another chord to compliment the echoed tri-tone shift, closer to what was needed to fulfill the sound, to make it whole, but not quite, not yet.

“Soon, the sun will rise.”

The instrumental resolution following that final phrase was simple, as simple as anything else. Three chords struck plain and not held. Sorrowful, but not dark. It hurt all the same, and as the final notes faded from your mind, you found that you wished they didn’t have to. It wasn’t the best song, and maybe it wasn’t even good, but that didn’t matter.

Your eyes were misty as you slowly pulled your lyre back against you, raising your gaze to look at your singular audience member. You’d never written a song for another person before, and certainly not like this. While performing you had felt a sense of separation, of strength and belief in your composition, but you suddenly realized that you had no idea what it might have sounded like. Making it even worse, Dimitri wore an expression you couldn’t read, his eyes fixed on you intently.

Anxiety twisted your insides as you waited for his deciding response, the seconds ticking by like years. Eventually, you found yourself too antsy to wait for him.

“Do you hate it?” you asked in a rush. “If you don’t like it I can… I can try another one, maybe a different type of song? Or different lyrics? Or….” Maybe this had been a bad idea, he had mentioned before that he wasn’t especially enthused about music in the first place. You had been too excitable about it. Too desperate. “You can be honest.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” he finally told you, the words’ stiff. “It wasn’t what I expected… I suppose that I’m the Prince of Blue?”

You nodded.

“And the lion?”

“Us, all of us. Together.”

“I see…”

“You can be honest.”

“It’s a lovely song. I… I’m sorry to admit that I didn’t expect that.” He even managed to sound apologetic. “I’ve never had much interest in music.”

Relief crashed through you, your shoulders drooping a bit as you relaxed. “Before knowing you, I hated warm up routines,” you replied, striving for a casual smile and tone. “So… Maybe there’s hope for you yet?”

Dimitri snorted at the idea, at the perceived ridiculousness. He was probably right.

“Okay, maybe not,” you admitted. “I promise you next year I’ll get you a really cool sword or something.”

“Next year…” he mused. His expression wasn’t dark, but leading into to unsafe territory. You could only begin to guess at what he imagined for his future.

“Things will be different then, huh?” you said, frowning. It hurt to think of him leaving, going off to be king, to think of the reason why he couldn’t make any promises. In a year there would be no more clandestine night time meetings, sanctified by the moon. “I suppose time must continue forward. But that… That’s okay, isn’t it?” you asked. Then, your head tipped towards him, an impish smile spreading across your face. “For now you should probably be more concerned about tea with Professor Byleth.”

Dimitri blinked, his eyes focusing, but he laughed. “That’s true, I-”

“Your Highness,” a familiar low voice said, cutting through Dimitri’s words. Dedue. He stood behind the two of you, wearing an obvious look of concern. Likely for the potentially precarious position Dimitri was in. “I’ve been searching for you. I wish you would alert me before going out, it isn’t safe.”

“Ah, my apologies, Dedue,” Dimitri responded, returning to his stiffly conversational way of speaking. Posture equally stiff, he turned and swing off of the fence to the solid ground. “I didn’t intend to be out so long. We should be getting back.” Dimitri turned his head to you. “And you as well.”

“Yes, it’s late isn’t it?” The sky-bound moon had dragged across the sky in the time you’d been too absorbed in your worldly moon to notice, showing how late it was. You swiveled and hopped back to the ground, holding your lyre safely beneath your cloak. The case was in your room, one of the worst signs of your internal turmoil. But… that was fine. You didn’t want to take the time to place your lyre back in her case that right then. Not when you’d just won a victory of sorts. Victory always made you a special kind of fool.

“Goodnight Dedue,” you said, bowing slightly to the tall man. “And… Goodnight Dimitri. Happy birthday. This years gonna be a good one, I can feel it.” Smiling, nervous, and a bit jittery, you rose to your toes and kissed his cheek. Quickly, too fast for him to respond in any way. Like that first victory, months ago. And, just like that time, you turned tail straight away to make your escape, endlessly grateful that your block of dormitory rooms was in the opposite direction from theirs.

You hummed all the way back, a lullaby.


	6. Valse di Amour Opus 4 No. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop whoop   
> Raised the rating like my fucking stress level writing this mammoth chapter  
> First time sex AND vanilla as fuck? Not my Cupcake

**Valse di Amour  
Opus 4, No. 1**

Magic followed you from the festivities of the ballroom, the echoing remains of a waltz weaving a hazy melody through your thoughts. Light and warmth had wrapped you in a sort of daze, as intoxicating as any drink you’d ever had.

In stark contrast, cold embraced you from the first step outside, sending a slow tremor down your back and kissing goosebumps onto any of the flushed skin revealed by your dress. The cooler air was a relief when you pulled in a deep breath, leaning against the outside wall to steady yourself. Skin coated with a sheen of sweat, your feet aching, and your heart racing, the ball was near as physically intensive as a training session. Despite that, you couldn’t help but smile.

To laugh so recklessly, to dance with whoever asked and allow yourself to become caught up in the music and motion, to indulge in all that you would have thought impossible not so long ago… It was a dream. A wonderful, unbelievable fantasy to add to the collection of them you’d created since coming to the monastery. A memory you’d treasure for the rest of your life. Some part of you longed to return, to follow the lure of dance and music and to stop yourself from doing anything too daring.

But you couldn’t, of course you couldn’t. There were more memories that you wanted, that you needed, to make. The only person you truly wished to dance with had disappeared from the ballroom after the first few songs. A very Dimitri move, all things considered. And after that, there was a sort of looming inevitability that you’d eventually leave in order to chase him. Romance was inherent to the thought, but also something strangely tragic. It seemed you were always chasing each other around, never quite in sync.

Pushing off from the cool stability of the wall, you settled your cloak around your shoulders and cut through the courtyard. Couples roamed around, bathed in the warmth of torchlight. Small groups that sought refuge from the heat and motion of the ballroom or wanted the privacy of shadow. Their voices were hushed, the atmosphere muted and intimate. You looked from face to face without much hope or luck. Not that it mattered. You already knew where your feet would take you. To grasp at the phantom coattails of legend and dream, blindly believing that reality would fall into place around your silly idealized hopes.

It had happened before. Maybe the magic you felt was real, maybe the night of the White Heron Ball was more special than the rest. Maybe, distinct among all of the silly things you knew yourself to be guilty of believing in, your desperate hunt towards the allure of this particular legend would be rewarded.

Even still, you questioned yourself as your heels clicked against the stone, skirt swishing with the quick pace you adopted. The air became still when you passed the safety of the scattered groups of students, sound dampening and light becoming a faint glow at your back. Trepidation slowed you as you approached your destination, an elaborate tower that loomed high above in the dark.

The Goddess Tower. A forbidden place, or at least not one you’d seek out without a cause. Some part of you feared it was a trap as you walked into the dark, but Seteth didn’t jump out from the shadows with a disapproving scowl. He probably had enough going on trying to make sure Flayn wasn’t approached by any boy brave enough to ask her to dance.

That thought did nothing to offset the doubt and nerves, feelings that doubled within your stomach as you snuck up the dark staircase, a hand on the cold wall to keep steady. Inset sconces held the magical greenish glow of dim light, although not near enough to allow you to see well. In addition, the nighttime chill had taken on a rather stale dampness, doing nothing for the chills covering your skin. Still, you crept onward. Anxiety or not, there was no point in turning back now. Mystery lingered tantalizingly in the solemn silence. The air was motionless, thick with promise. It was an intangible sensation that made the quiet swirl with life.

As you neared the top of the stairs, the silence was broken by a quickly hushed giggle from down the dark hall, bouncing back against the stone and into the open air. You froze in place, rigid with surprise, but you calmed yourself when there was no further noise. It made sense. This place was a popular spot for couples, especially on a night that offered such a romantic legend. So up you continued, each step after the next.

At the top, the observatory room greeted you. Empty, much to your relief. You stepped in cautiously, slowed by respect of the floor you tread upon. The Goddess Tower’s majesty was a soft, understated thing. Light from the open wall combined with a few more sconces opposite made this room the brightest of them all, but the view outside was cut with tree branches. It smelled of greenery and ancient stone, a faint breeze tickling your skin. The subtle enchantment, fabricated by your overactive imagination or otherwise, caught you off guard. Garreg Mach was a creature in its own right, ageless and grand, but the Goddess Tower held a magic you didn’t know, a feeling that was all at once holy and mundane.

Beautiful.

“I thought I might find you here.”

The squeak of surprise that left your mouth was unbecoming of not only a lady, but of the formidable combatant you were training to be. And you thought you were beyond such childish reactions. Whatever tendrils of vague fairy fancy you had been beginning to compose left your mind as you turned with a jumpy twirl to face the voice, a hand over your heart and the other on your swordless hip.

“Ah, my apologies,” Dimitri said earnestly, frowning at your reaction. “It wasn’t my intention to frighten you.”

Hadn’t this happened before? For a moment, the striking sense of deja vu and panic kept you from feeling the delighted surprise Dimitri’s appearance should have filled you with. Chasing, startling, always brought together with surprise and coincidence. Perhaps the two of you weren’t bound by fate, but something far crueler. But that thought was fleeting, pulsing at the speed of your heart as it pounded against your ribs and banished just as quickly. Your thoughts snapped into clarity, excitement buzzing to a blaze as you realized that somehow your hopes had been answered. A wish granted.

“Oh no, it’s okay. I was… Pretty distracted,” you said with a breathless laugh.

“Is something wrong?” Dimitri asked, a crease forming between his eyebrows. Even scrunched with a look of worry and poorly lit, just the sight of him was enough to make your heart melt.

“Only my sore feet,” you responded.

“I see.”

“Were you looking for me?” you asked after an off beat of silence, trying to break the tension.

“Yes.” He hesitated, stiff. The awkwardness made your heart clench, or perhaps it was the idea that after everything that had happened between you things could be awkward. “When I was returning to the ball, I thought I saw you heading this way. I worried something might have happened.”

“Oh… I’m fine, but thank you,” you said, trying to hide exactly how flustered his concern made you. “Truthfully, I was getting a bit overwhelmed. Despite all the warnings, I don’t think I was properly prepared for how much dancing and socializing a ball truly entailed. Dancing is wonderful, truly, but after a while, it’s just… Overwhelming.”

Dimitri nodded his agreement. “Although I’ve been to many balls, I admit that I feel the same. It’s not long before I begin to wish for some peace away from all the noise and festivities.”

“You’re in luck, then. It’s very quiet here…” You shoved down your nerves, forcing yourself to portray confidence. This situation was not too dissimilar from any other, you had no reason to feel so awkward. Or so you told yourself. “Maybe you’d like to join me?”

“You’re not waiting for anyone?” Dimitri asked.

“Not anymore,” you answered without thinking, wearing a smile you belatedly hoped was more playful than flirtatious to offset the bold answer. You were still unsure where the two of you stood. Since his birthday, things had returned to something like before. At the very least, Dimitri wasn’t avoiding you. Eating together, training… There had even been some kissing. Other than that, however, his behavior was unchanged. Not that you cared, really. Just like how you didn’t care when he had been dancing with other girls. It was enough to have this, to have any piece of him. 

“You were waiting… For me?” Dimitri asked, surprise widening his eyes slightly.

For a moment, you were tempted to answer as you had on the night of the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. _Isn’t it obvious?_

“Is that surprising?” you asked instead. The safer, more playful question.

“No, I… I suppose not.” As if that resolved it, Dimitri stepped forward to stand at your side, facing the grand archways and dark night beyond. Even in the dim light, he really was beautiful.

The formal suit he wore was stiff and militaristic in the fashion of the Farghus elite, but the lines were more tailored, the cut borrowing from classic Imperial suits rather than the standard academy uniform. It was easy to recall the way Dimitri looked earlier while dancing with the few girls brave enough to approach him first, his hair glowing gold in the warm light and body moving with surprisingly deft movements. He called himself clumsy so often, but you never agreed with that assessment. Dimitri was restrained, aware of his strength and of his pursuit to control it, but that over-correction more often than not worked to his detriment. When he focused that control his movements were precise and fluid. And when he abandoned that control, he was-

“Have you been up here before?” you asked, unwilling to continue entertaining that line of thought.

“No, I haven’t,” Dimitri replied, seemingly unconcerned with the abrupt nature of your question. Lost in his own thoughts. “It’s… Quite serene.”

“It is,” you agreed, avoiding looking at him in favor of staring into the dark beyond. No moon, but the sky was clear enough for you to see the twinkling spray of stars between the branches cutting through the view. “It’s almost… Magical. Don’t you think? I can understand why people would spread the legend associated with this place.”

“You mean the legend that wishes made on this night, in this tower, will come true?” Dimitri asked bluntly, meeting your shy sideways glance with a head-on look of his own. His straightforward question made you doubt yourself, the idea sounding quite embarrassing when shaped by his reasonable voice.

“When you say it like that, it doesn’t sound romantic at all,” you complained.

“I suppose I’m not surprised to hear you say that,” he said, his tone difficult for you to read. “Although now I’m curious. You wouldn’t happen to believe in the legend, would you?”

“Sure I believe in it, at least a little bit.”

“And what of the wishes made?” Dimitri continued. “Do you believe the goddess will grant them?” He didn’t speak doubtfully, at least not entirely. You understood his questioning now, Dimitri wasn’t talking of the fairy story legend created by imaginative students. Wishes, prayers, desperate attempts to plead with the goddess, all of it fruitless.

“Perhaps not,” you granted him.

He hummed in understanding. Although you could only see Dimitri’s face in profile, the edge of a frown was obvious, his brow furrowed in an introspective look of thought that had nothing to do with the stars his gaze was fixed upon.

“That’s true, I doubt there are many who really believe that wishes can be granted by the goddess,” Dimitri paused as if thinking of how to phrase what he meant to say. “The goddess just watches over us from above… That is all. No matter how hard someone begs to be saved, she would never so much as offer her hand. And even if she did, we lack the means to reach out and grasp it. That’s how I feel about her.”

Those words settled in the quiet space around you, all traces of the playful atmosphere gone. You had been given insight into the darkness that dwelled within him before, but hearing of it in such a dejected tone still made your heart ache. Dimitri didn’t speak out of blind pain or anger, but out of a grim understanding he’d come to on his own. You wanted to ask what had made him like this, but you feared the answer. You wanted to comfort him but doubted your words could reach the place within him that hurt. You wanted to be clever enough to think of something to give him that would ease the strain that tightened his eyes, conjure some of the magic you still believed in to soothe his fatigue, but you were just as useless as you had always been to those around you.

Dimitri’s tone lightened, continuing with a forced brightness. “In any case… I suppose there’s no harm in passing the time with legends. What do you say, care to make a wish?”

Caught off guard by the second sudden shift in tone, it took you a moment to reorient yourself. Dimitri’s expression and posture had loosened, indicating his desire to move on. Not knowing what you could possibly say, you gratefully let the moment pass.

“A wish..” you thought aloud, pursing your lips as you weighed the idea. If you thought about it, you had, perhaps, a thousand wishes. A wish to be a good knight. A wish for your mother’s ailments to be cured. A wish for Dimitri’s pain to be eased. A wish for him to no longer felt crushed by the weight of Fódlan. A wish that he would kiss you again. A wish that he would do a bit more than that. “I have one, if you would care to hear it,“ you said, "Although… You might think it’s silly.”

“Nonsense. What is it?”

“I wish…” You smiled, looking at him with hopeful eyes. “I wish that we could always be together. All of us… Our class, I mean. The Blue Lions.” Dimitri stiffened, his shoulders going tense. You had said the wrong thing, you could see it on his face. “I’m sorry,” you said hastily. “That was-”

“No, no. It’s a good wish,” Dimitri said, although his voice told you otherwise.

“I just mean… I… Well, I care for you all very much. I never thought that I would… I mean, I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere or to anything. I really am sorry, I-”

“I would like very much to see your wish granted,” Dimitri said, cutting off your rambling. His face was forward, his body stiff. “But… I cannot promise my future to anyone. I have already made reckless promises to the others about seeing each other again, but I fear I will not be able to follow through. As badly as I would like to, there are other oaths I have made that I must fulfill first, even at the expense of my own life. My future… Is not my own.”

You’d heard that before. You knew what the answer would be.

“I understand,” you said quietly. You didn’t, you truly didn’t, even if you wished you did. But you knew that tugging on that thread wouldn’t lead anywhere good, so you let out a breath, lifting your chin slightly. “Do you think… That the goddess would permit me to make another wish?”

“I don’t see why not,” he said, although it was a careful answer.

“I wish…” you began, forcing a more playful tone. You couldn’t fantasize of the future, and the past was rife with pain. All you had was the present. That was enough. More than enough. For a majority of your life, you hadn’t even that much. “I wish for a dance. I didn’t have the courage to ask earlier, and then you were gone so I… Well, will you dance with me, Dimitri?”

“Here?”

“Why not?”

Nervous and hopeful with renewed focus, you peered sideways at him with eyes you knew would betray your feelings if he could see them under proper lighting. Your request seemed to stun him at first, but then Dimitri chuckled. Somehow, despite the darkness you had heard in his voice before, it was a shockingly warm sound. He didn’t laugh often, but right then you wished to never be without the sound.

“That’s… A bit unexpected. But, if that’s all you want, then I’d be glad to grant your wish. Although it might be difficult without any music.”

“I’m sure we can manage,” you said. turning with your arm outstretched and feet poised in position. With a far more natural movement than you expected, he took your hand in his, his other hand settling lightly against your back.

Dimitri was warm, the hand that held yours calloused and strong. A hand that had caressed your cheek, brushed through your hair, held your waist. Right then, you realized that you did not want to dance, not really. You wanted for him to pull you closer, to envelop you in his embrace. You wanted to hear his heartbeat against your cheek, feel his voice rumble through his chest. You wanted to be held, a long-forgotten desire from the days of your neglectful childhood. The desire took your breath away.

“Is this okay?” Dimitri asked, making you realize how wrapped up in thought you’d become.

“Of course! I was just… I was thinking that… Maybe you’re right, dancing without music is a bit…” Suddenly you felt uncomfortably uncertain about the situation you’d found yourself in, wondering if you’d even be able get your feet moving.

“Here… I’ll count,” he offered. Counting out a three four beat in an adorably rhythmically obtuse way, Dimitri led you into a dance. After a moment of stiff movements, you fell into step with him. The pain in your feet was gone, your insecurity inconsequential. A song picked up in your head to compliment the dance, not that you especially minded this silence.

“I’m… Surprised that you know how to dance so well,” you said, the two of you twirling around the limited space provided. “I don’t mean that as an offense, I just thought that… In the Kingdom, I mean… Dancing wouldn’t be a priority. Not that I’d know, I suppose, I’ve only ever been to one event, and that was…” You cut yourself off. It was the event where you had met him for the first time. “Even my father didn’t seem to care much beyond me knowing the basics.”

“It’s true that dancing isn’t as highly valued in Faerghus,” Dimitri granted you easily, his form unfaltering with the distraction of conversation. Then, hesitantly, he added, “Actually… It was Edelgard who taught me to dance.”

“Edelgard?” you asked incredulously, almost falling out of step. “As in Edelgard, the Imperial Princess Edelgard? That sounds…”

“Awkward?” Dimitri asked with a chagrined half smile.

“Strange,” you corrected him. “I didn’t know you two knew each other… Before now, I mean.”

“It was many years ago, when we were both children,” he explained. “After the Empire fell into turmoil, Edelgard and her uncle sought refuge the Kingdom. It was there that we were able to meet, not knowing of the other’s status or circumstances.”

“What was that like?”

“At first I didn’t know what to make of her,” he recalled with a slight smile. “She seemed disinterested and… Quite difficult, honestly. But once we got to know each other and her true self was revealed, we became good friends.” Dimitri spoke in a voice tinged by warmth and nostalgia. His eyes were no longer looking at you, but beyond you. Into the joyful memory he now recounted. “That year together was _so_ much fun. In some ways, it was the best year of my life.”

“And now?” you asked, trying to reconcile the image you had of the intimidating and cold princess with what Dimitri described. “Did something happen between you?”

The prying question gave Dimitri pause, your dance slowing down little more than a half-hearted sway. “After just a year, Edelgard left abruptly to return to the empire. After that, the children we were…” he frowned, searching for an answer, for the words to complete that thought. Finally, he gave up, choosing instead to say, “Things are different now. She’s different - I’m different.”

Although his answer held no particular painful emphasis, there was a tragic melancholy about that statement. At some point, something had changed Dimitri so irrevocably that the child he once was no longer existed in full. Had the same happened to Edelgard? You knew so little about the severe Imperial Heir, the image of her Dimitri presented was hard to believe.

“But… That’s hardly appropriate conversation,” Dimitri said apologetically, beginning to move again as if only just becoming aware that you’d slowed down. You followed suit gratefully, somewhat happy to focus on something else.

“I don’t mind,” you told him, your feet stepping in time with his. “Actually, I like hearing about you.”

“Well, thank you,” he replied bashfully. “I am curious. You knew how to dance before?”

“Yes, thankfully. I was taught by one of my instructors,” you told him, face scrunching at the reminder. “She was… Strict. Very strict. Scary, too.” Miss Ida. She hadn’t lasted long, very few of your teachers had managed to stay in the haunted expanse of your father’s mansion for more than a few months. “Oh, but when I was very young, my mother would dance with me,” you added, a far happier memory. “She knew lots of types of dancing. I was heartbroken when I was told dancing like that was inappropriate for courtly events.”

“What kind of dance?” Dimitri asked.

You pursed your lips, trying to sort out the memories through a veil of the years that had passed. “I can’t remember much,” you finally admitted. “Oh! The Whirl!” you exclaimed enthusiastically, your energy renewed at the reminder of better times.

“The… Whirl?” To his credit, Dimitri was trying to hide his trepidation.

“Yes! Here…” You pulled away from Dimitri’s grasp, taking his hand along with you to spin out, throwing your other hand to the side theatrically. It ruined the rhythm of your steps and he was far too stiff to properly facilitate the move, but your smile only grew. “See?” You asked, unable to keep from giggling in something like delight as you made to spin back in towards him, laughing at the childishness of the poorly executed move and the memories it dug up.

Spinning back in, his arm half way wound around you, your toe caught on a stone. Somehow, your feet had managed to find the singular imperfection of the floor to trip over, sending you stumbling.

“Careful!” Dimitri said, but the warning hardly mattered at that point.

There was no real sensation of falling, or at least not in a way that was frightening. You knew Dimitri, so you knew without question that he would catch you. And he did. In a show of shockingly quick reflexes, Dimitri took a hard step forward to catch you long before you could hit the floor.

He was strong. It was easy to forget with his slim physique, but you could feel the ease with which he supported you, as if you weighed nothing. Dimitri wore an expression of concern, his face only a few inches away from your own. So close that stray strands of his hair fell down to brush your face. Close enough that you could feel how warm he was, smell the uncharacteristic perfume someone else must have thought to spray on his formal suit. Close enough that you could feel the magnetic distance between your mouths, feel the way the darkness enclosed the space around you. Close enough to be overwhelmed by the intensity and intimacy of it all.

He was going to kiss you, or you him. It didn’t matter, all that mattered was the result. Dimitri’s lips on yours, always a little chapped. His arms holding you to him, their strength undeniable. Knowing what was going to happen filled you with a heady mix of nerves and desire, twisting and vicious in your core. Caught between melting and running, submitting to the feelings or rejecting them.

And it… It was too much.

You couldn’t help it. Another bout of giggles left your mouth, these ones nervous and breathless, ruining the tension of the moment as your embarrassment got the better of you. It killed the aura of intimacy and Dimitri stiffened, clearing his throat as if only just becoming aware of the position.

“Sorry,” you half-whispered, willing the heat to bleed out from your cheeks. You couldn’t tell what you were apologizing for, or to whom you were apologizing.

“No need to apologize. That was… Quite a move,” Dimitri said, helping you back to your feet before letting his arms drop away respectfully.

The mood was, once again, awkward. Your cheeks were still burning, your heart racing. If you weren’t mistaken, Dimitri was flushing too. Your stomach twisted and churned with the memory of his embrace, a dozen feelings sparking through you.

“I should have expected to fall like that,” you finally said, speaking the first words to come to mind in a desperate attempt to diffuse the odd awkwardness that had settled in the tower.

“Pardon?” Dimitri asked stiffly.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to relax. “You see, I went to see a mystic recently and she told me this, ‘As for your future, I shall not be coy. In it, I see an abundance of joy. But for you, my dear, I do have one tip, and that is that you should be on the lookout for a surprise trip.’”

Dimitri’s reaction was delayed. You could see, piece by piece, as the awful pun sank in. Not your finest work, derivative at best, but eventually he snorted. A decidedly un-princely sound. Soon that became actual laughter, puncturing the awkward bubble you’d created. 

“That was awful,” Dimitri told you bluntly, his voice warmed by amusement. “Have you been spending time with Alois, perchance?”

You couldn’t help a bashful smile, only somewhat for being laughed at. In truth, his laugh had left your knees weak, heart full. The feeling that left you reeling was unbearable, as if it could overwhelm you at any moment. It was separate from the lust, a feeling like sunshine. Right then more than ever, you wanted to tell Dimitri what you felt, forget the consequences.

But you didn’t.

“Don’t be so unkind!” you protested. “Alois’ jokes are much more original.”

“I’m not so sure that is always a good thing,” Dimitri said, still smiling. As ever, it was a fleeting expression. He sighed. “It’s probably time for us to return to the ball. It would be unbecoming of me to avoid so much of the event.”

“You’re right,” you said, suppressing a sigh of your own. It was hard to recall the magic of the White Heron Ball in comparison to the magic you’d found here, but you forced down your disappointment. Stolen moments like these could never last, you knew that very well. “Shall we, then?”

Dimitri’s head titled, his eyes fixed on you as if surprised by something. Had you expected you to disagree? Would that have changed things? You didn’t have the chance to find out, as he simply nodded in agreement, gesturing with one gloved hand towards the stairs.

“After you.”

**Valse di Amour  
Opus 4, No. 2**

Hours after your tryst in the Goddess Tower, at least an hour since the ball itself had ended, you were prepared to leave. You had volunteered you to help pick up the most immediate of the mess the ball had left behind. Well, more accurately, you had been convinced into taking the duty by a charming Hilda. Not that you really minded. You _wanted_ time to think.

The magic of dancing hadn’t enraptured you even half the same after returning from the Goddess Tower. All you could recall was that feeling you had while wrapped in Dimitri’s embrace. Something dark, something hot. The memory alone made you flush, your stomach muscles fluttering with butterflies. In the realm of intimacy, your education was arguably more comprehensive than most girls of your age. Your mother had never been too concerned with hiding her private collection of illicit books from your curious eyes. It was enough to allow you to identify the feeling you had in that moment. Lust. If Dimitri had declared his intentions to make love to you right there in the Goddess Tower, you would have said yes. Not because you dared hope marriage or children would come of the union, but because you wanted him. Living for the now, taking a chance while you had it. The future was a vague thing, you had no basis to clearly define your own, and Dimitri certainly had no intentions to share his.

With that logic, you could almost convince yourself to be bold.

But there was another side to the feeling, the reason you had giggled and ruined the moment. Music often painted love affairs in rosy hues; art had a fascination with the sensual and obscene. But real life hid such things behind locked doors and spoke of it only in hushed whispers, your step-siblings were proof enough of that.

Dancing, tidying, bidding goodnight to the worn looking Manuela as she sighed once again about her lack of beau, and you still had no answer for yourself, no conclusion that could be drawn with your twisting mess of feelings and emotions. As made your way out of the grand hall, you decided that maybe if you slept things would make more sense in the morning. Maybe the romance and magic of the ball had confused your starry thoughts.

But someone was waiting for you in the night. A lone shadow now that everyone had shuffled away. It wasn’t just someone, never just ‘someone’.

Dimitri cleared his throat. “I wondered if you might allow me the pleasure of walking you back to your room,” he explained with words that sounded oddly rehearsed.

He had been waiting for you. Your heart skipped at the thought, everything else melting away in the warmth his presence filled you with. You felt no compulsion to remind him that it wasn’t necessary, or to point out the fact that you’d never needed accompaniment before. Instead, you smiled. Like a lady and her gentleman caller.

“That would be nice,” you replied.

As the two of you walked, Dimitri offered no explanation as to why he would wait for you. There had to be some reason, as he drew breath to speak several times, but it fizzled out into silence each time. With every second, anxiety mounted within you. Anticipation that perhaps he was feeling the same emotions you’d been conflicted with all night. After all, Dimitri seemed just as nervous as you, what with the way he constantly hesitated away from speaking and cast quick glances down at you. Striking up banal small talk, you hoped it would push him to say what was on his mind, but these efforts were as much of a failure as anything else.

The two of you approached your room wrapped in tense silence which dripped with the unsaid. Something important left to die in the night.

“Here you are,” Dimitri when you begrudgingly arrived at your door. In your chest, your heart was pounding a furious, terrible beat. He wasn’t going to say anything. A missed chance. Did you speak? Did you dare? Could you? No, no. You couldn’t say what you felt, you weren’t brave enough. You woodenly raised the key to the lock, your body stiff and tense, and you couldn’t-

Already you knew you were blushing, the bottom of your stomach ready to give out.

“Would you like to come in?” The boldness made your stomach twist, but your words were compelled from you, impossible to swallow down. “You waited and walked me back and everything, um, if you want it’s… That’s, I would like that.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he responded. Although his tone was awkward, you couldn’t bear to check his expression to know what he thought of your bold invitation.

“It’s not an intrusion at all,” you said, unlocking your door with a trembling grip. “It’s cold out here, isn’t it? If you want to, you can.” You couldn’t look at him, not daring to cast a glance his way as you opened your door. You went inside, leaving the door open for him. A choice.

Muscle memory took you across the small space to your side table where your candles. Behind you, footsteps followed. The door closed. You didn’t look. Instead, you struck a flame and held it to each wick. The flames were unsteady, shimming back and forth. Some students made or commissioned their own lights with the steady, unnatural glow of magic, but you didn’t mind the real flame. It was warm and familiar. 

That done, you took off your cloak, draping it over your chair.

Then you pulled in a heavy breath, trying to will your shaking hands to be still.

Uncertainty was harsh. This was far too bold, there was no way you could follow through. What were you thinking, that you were some kind of seductress? A concubine? No, you were nothing but a musician, a knight in training, a silly, silly-

“Your room is very comfortable,” Dimitri said. “It suits you.”

Exhaling, you felt your shoulders relax a little. Maybe that wasn’t what he had in mind. Maybe that wasn’t what you had in mind. There was no reason to get worked up, it was only Dimitri.

“Thank you,” you said as you turned around. “I’m sorry for the mess. I suppose I wasn’t planning on company.” A small laugh came with the words, amusement at the idea that a lack of forethought would be appealing in any way. At least you had gotten ready in Mercedes’ room, so your room was tidy of all the inherent mess that came along with being a girl.

“I don’t mind,” Dimitri said. “Truthfully, my own quarters are dreadfully bare, this is a nice change.”

“That’s good… I think. Oh, please, make yourself comfortable. Here, I can take your cloak,” you spoke awkwardly, the unfamiliar yet expected words of a charming host. You reached out for his cloak as he took it off, draping it over your own.

“I didn’t think you spent much time in here, given your tendency to be out late at night,” Dimitri said. “But this must have taken weeks.” You followed his gaze to your walls. Criss-crossed with a ribbon where you’d hung pictures, music, school work of importance, dried flowers, anything that made you happy, really. Most of it was things that reminded you of your friends. It was something you’d always done, some beauty to keep you company in the dark of isolation.

What did Dimitri think of the pages of fairy story characters? The picturesque blonde prince you’d found in an old and ratty children’s book who looked an unfortunately lot like another blond prince you knew?

“Oh, it’s just for fun,” you said in an attempt to play it off. “Then when I can’t sleep or wake up from a bad dream, I can remember everything that makes me happy.” 

“Does that work?” Dimitri asked, turning to you.

“Sure,” you said. “Maybe you should try it.”

Dimitri’s lips quirked at your half-joke, although it wasn’t an entirely happy smile. “I’m not sure I’d have anything to put up. Besides, the year will be up before we know it. It seems a shame to put so much work into something temporary.” From his far off look, you got the feeling he was no longer talking about your wall collage.

“Doing things that make you happy isn’t about the future,” you countered, the words coming almost without thought. Dimitri looked surprised, focusing on you once more.

“No, I suppose it’s not…” He looked back to your wall, considering it.

“Actually, Dimitri…” you said after a moment, heart beating fast. “I wanted to say this earlier, but I-I guess I was afraid. I wanted to tell you that… I don’t care about the future.” These were the words that had been festering and burning in your mouth most of the night, refusing to be kept inside a moment longer. The desire that had been building up for so long had finally reached a boiling point.

“What?” Dimitri asked, blinking in surprise.

“I mean…” You let out a deep breath, trying to keep yourself from fidgeting. “You said that you can’t promise me your future, and that’s… That’s fine. I’ve spent my entire life waiting on the future, thinking I knew what it was going to be. But I don’t know anymore. You said that you don’t know, either. That it’s not yours, that you can’t promise your future to anyone.”

“That’s true,” Dimitri said carefully. 

“So I won’t ask that of you,” you told him, your voice softened slightly. Clasping your shaking hands together, you took a deep breath in, your head spinning as if you’d been drinking. By the goddess, this confession was making you dizzy. “But I… That’s how I feel.”

“Living for the moment,” Dimitri mused. “Believe it or not, I was told the same thing earlier. That I should live for the moment. I’ll admit, that’s why I sought you out.” He sighed. “But it isn’t right that I should ask such things of you, not when I have nothing to give you in return.” He sounded frustrated now, conflicted. “Each time I try to do what’s right, it causes you pain. Each time I do what I want, things only get more complicated. I should have the strength to do what I must, but when you look at me with those eyes of yours, it’s…” He shook his head, body rigid with forced tension. “You make it so easy to want to lose myself. Almost like I could forget what I… But I can’t.”

“I’m not asking you to,” you said softly, reeling from the confession. “I want you, I’ve wanted you for-” _Most of your life._ “For a while. I want you to be my first, Dimitri.” He made a sound. Shock? Disgust? Your head spun, your stomach churning and nearly sick with nerves. “I never thought I’d get a choice, but if I do… I want to choose you. So… That’s why. Earlier in the tower, I felt like… Like maybe you feel the same? But if it’s too much, if I’m wrong…”

“You’re not,” Dimitri said. He was as awkward as you were, compounded with his restrictive reluctance. Beautiful, still. The floppy bits of blond hair tossed over his brow cast shadows in chunky blocks over his tired eyes which danced with the flicker of flame. The sharp line of his nose was blushed pink, spreading to his cheeks that were a mirror of the blazing heat you felt on your own.

“That’s why you came in, isn’t it?”

“I… I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Maybe… Yes.”

The agreement made your head spin anew, and you reached for his hand to steady yourself. Gloved, the leather was cool to the touch. Dimitri jumped slightly but didn’t shake off your grasp.

“So let’s do it,” you said excitedly, hopefully.

“I can’t give you what you want,” he told you, his voice low and hard with control. He sounded regretful, his eyebrows furrowing. “It was reckless of me to let things get this far. I’ve been far too selfish-”

“It’s okay to be selfish,” you cut in. Hadn’t you told him that once before? “And you don’t need to give me anything. I just want… I want you. That’s all.” All you’d ever want, it felt like.

Dimitri’s eyes held onto yours. Blue. Unbelievably blue.

You smiled, hopeful, wanting, in love. His expression softened, conflict raging. Boldly, you took the hand you held and pulled off the glove. Dimitri’s hands were strong and calloused, cold despite the protection. Familiar in the way that they dominated many of your thoughts. You pressed his hand to your cheek, kissed his palm. With each action, you felt him giving in. Maybe you should have felt bad for using affection to convince Dimitri, but couldn’t muster the mental energy.

“Are you sure?” he asked, retaining the stiff tone of control.

“Yes,” you said, stomach buzzing with something hot and needful. Blue flashed cobalt, control unraveled, and he kissed you.

If you couldn’t tell Dimitri of your love, if you couldn’t sing him ballads or recite poetry to tell him how your heart went soft at the very thought of him, then you would show him. With your fingers grazing his cheeks, pushing up into his hair, down to his neck. Your lips on his, swiping your tongue across his bottom lip. His mouth tasted of cider, his tongue not nearly as eager as yours. Distracted by the kiss, you weren’t aware he’d gotten his other glove off until both warm, calloused hands grasped your face. Your delighted giggle was stifled by the press of his body against yours, by the way he swallowed the sound.

Your fingers were clumsy without being able to see what you were doing, but after a bit of effort, you were able to get his suit coat undone, pushing it off of his arms without breaking the messy kiss. It fell somewhere alongside his gloves, to be forgotten for the moment.

Dimitri pushed himself against you more intently, the edge of your desk biting into the back of your legs until you perched on the edge, his hips slotting between your thighs. You could feel him between the layers of constricting fabric. Proof of his desire for you. It made your head spin. He pushed even closer, rutting against you in a way that made you moan, insides molten and liquid.

Fabric ripped beneath his hungry touch but you didn’t care, holding onto Dimitri with all the more fervor. Beneath the thin undershirt, you could feel the muscles of his back, his arms, the heat that sizzled from his skin.

Until he pulled back. Flushed, lips red and wet, eyes wide. Beautiful, indescribably so, but doubtful. Hesitant.

“I’m sorry…” Dimitri said, heaving a shuddering breath.

“What?” There was no way to speak gracefully, breathless and dazed. You could barely brace yourself for the rejection you suddenly feared.

“Your dress.” He held up one of the ripped ends, a split that went all the way to your waist. To that, you laughed breathlessly. To even imagine caring for such a trivial detail was beyond you.

“Don’t worry about it,” you told him.

Dimitri cleared his throat, looking uncertain. “Are you sure you want this? My strength, I could hurt you without meaning to. I-”

You kissed him again, another attempt to convey what words couldn’t.

“You won’t,” you told him when you pulled away. Dimitri exhaled shakily, his eyes locked on yours. You couldn’t tell if you had convinced him or simply swayed him, but it didn’t matter. You trusted him beyond a shadow of a doubt, couldn’t he see that?

“You must tell me if I do.”

“I will,” you vowed. “It’s okay, anyway. If we’re doing this, shouldn’t we get undressed?”

“Oh,” Dimitri said as if the idea took him by surprise. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Although it was at your prompting, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed when he pulled away. Doing your best to steady yourself, you toed off your dancing heels. Uncomfortably beautiful things. Turning your back to him as a nod to something like modesty, you undid the line of buttons of your dress, allowing you to pull the torn garment up and off over your head where it could be cast aside with everything else.

Chills danced across your skin as if your body was aware of the audience before you were. Dimitri sat on your bed, boots and belt already discarded, watching you with flushed cheeks and parted lips. Stagefright nearly consumed you right then, but you refused to let yourself stop. You wanted him to see, didn’t you?

Goddess help you, your hands were shaking, your heart was racing.

The silky slip went next, sliding to the floor and pooling in a fluid puddle of fabric. More of your thighs were revealed, all the way up to the fabric that merely covered your most intimate parts. A lifetime of unlacing your stiffly boned undergarments allowed you to do it with some ease, your fingers only stuttering once as embarrassment overcame you. Flushed and covered with chills and vulnerable, your stomach a twisting mess of butterflies. After that went your camisole, one of your last vestiges of modesty. You played with the hem a moment before tugging it off. To remove it marked true commitment. Once you were bared before his eyes, there was no turning back.

You took it off. Although the air in your dorm was somewhat warm, your nipples hardened when revealed, coloring with the blush that spread down your face and neck. Still, you stood above him, refusing to shrink away. Invulnerable in the way of a young lover and of a fresh faced fool.

Dimitri’s eyes were wide, his cheeks as flushed as your own. He averted his gaze by meeting yours as the camisole fell to the floor among the rest, leaving only your underwear. His throat worked hard as he swallowed.

“You’re beautiful,” he told you with a blunt sense of embarrassed affection. You felt when his eyes made a path down your chest, your stomach, abdomen, trailing down even further. His expression wasn’t lascivious or hungry but softened with tenderness, even awe. It made you feel inclined to believe him. For him, you were beautiful.

“Your turn?” you asked, unable to stop yourself from squirming beneath his gaze. Although you had intended to speak with a tone of confidence, your voice was rather meek.

“Right,” Dimitri replied, blinking to focus. He cleared his throat, sitting up to undo the lacing of his undershirt and sliding it off over his head. You’d seen him training in his undershirt, of course, but never shirtless.

Exposed and illuminated by the flickering warm light, you understood why. Scars littered Dimitri’s pale skin. Most of them were old and silvery, the surrounding area puckered. Some were new, pinkish and raw. His skin told a story of a hundred little tragedies, a composition of hurt. More striking was the exposed column of his throat that worked as Dimitri swallowed hard, leading down into the sharp lines of his collar bones. Beneath that, the firm planes of his chest, the rippling muscles across his abdomen. The graceful line of his arm as self-consciously crossed it across his chest to scratch his shoulder. He got out of his trousers next, leaving the effect you had on him painfully obvious.

You weren’t unfamiliar with male anatomy. Not in a purely academic sense. Reality was… Intimidating. Exciting.

“I apologize for the scars… I know they’re rather… Unsightly,” Dimitri said, averting his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” you countered dreamily, kneeling beside him on the bed. Your hand raised, but you resisted tracing the newer scar that was etched on his chest. He’d won that during the battle in Conand Tower, you could remember the ripped shirt stained brilliant crimson, your own fear. Dimitri looked at you, somehow managing to turn a shade darker and making you realize that perhaps you’d misspoken. “Not beautiful, I mean… You’re… You’re perfect, Dimitri. Really.”

Luckily, he managed a laugh at that, shaking his head. “That’s… A bit embarrassing. You shouldn’t say such things to a man.”

“But it’s true!” you touched your fingertips to his face, unable to stop a smile. “Absolutely perfect.” Anyone with a shred of understanding would have undoubtedly been able to hear the borderline devout adoration in your tone. Dimitri did not.

“There you go again,” he said.

“Would you prefer handsome?” you asked. “Attractive? Gorgeous? Lovely? I’ve got-”

This time it was Dimitri who cut you off with a kiss, although you weren’t upset by it. It was possibly the best way to be shushed. You kissed him back enthusiastically, hungrily. A challenge of sorts. When Dimitri responded by curiously biting your lower lip, you felt your head spin, pushing yourself against him with more urgency. You wanted to feel his skin against yours, feel the way his chest heaved, feel the way his heart pounded. Dimitri was warm, solid in a way your mind could never construct in fantasy. So strong, you knew that very well, but his fingers were gentle as they began playing down your spine, gliding over your waist. The touch made you shiver, wanting for more.

He broke the kiss, leaving you breathless and giddy and wanting. 

“You’re going to knock me over,” Dimitri said, his breathy tone holding the lilt of amusement.

“Then move back,” you told him.

He looked behind himself, hesitating. Considering. You could almost see the decision made in his head when he began scooting back to the center of your bed. It was easy to make out the line of his erection through the thin fabric as he settled. Intimidating. Arousing. You looked away, trying to settle yourself.

“Put your other knee here,” Dimitri suggested, motioning to the opposite side of his leg. “That way you’ll be better balanced.” Your heart stuttered. Only Dimitri could tell you to straddle him completely straight-faced, seeing it as a matter of comfort. Of course, you were also all too happy to comply, scrambling over his legs to get close to him.

“I’ve thought of more,” you said to curb your nerves.

“More?” he asked, visibly doing his best to fighting down his own nerves.

“More words to describe you, that is. Splendid, cute, appeal-”

“Cute?” Dimitri cut you off, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“You can be cute,” you said. He snorted, his lips pulling into an embarrassed smile.

“That’s hardly reassuring.”

“How about kissable?” you asked.

“Well, that’s-” Dimitri’s flustered words faltered when you kissed his cheek. One, then the other.

His chin tilted to catch your lips before you could cheekily pull away as you intended, holding you in place with one hand while the other brushed through your hair, down your shoulder, to your back. You melted into the kiss. Not as fevered as the other two. Each of your heavy breaths pushed your chest forward, allowing your nipples to graze against his chest, the apex of your thighs hovering right above his lap. You held onto Dimitri’s firm shoulder for stability, pushed your fingers once again through his hair.

When you had softened for him truly, submitted to the sweet intimacy of the kiss, he pulled your hair gently, enough to pull your face upwards. Dimitri’s lips left yours to brush your jaw, sliding down your neck. Chills followed.

“What are you…?” you asked, breathless.

“Syl-” he cut himself off, clearing his throat. “I was told that I should make sure you’re… Ready. For when we…”

“Ready? Oh! _Oh_ ,” your words were pitchy and tumbled out messily, your entire body flushed and head beyond dizzy with lustful nerves.

“Is that all right?” Dimitri asked, hesitating. At that moment, he brought his thigh up. It had to have been an accident, an adjustment, and it was just a bit. Enough to make contact with your heated core. Enough to make you gasp. He froze at the sound, blue eyes scouring your face to see what reaction he’d elicited. Then he did it again. You squirmed, trying to resist grinding against his thigh.

“Dimitri,” you whined, a shuttering sense of pleasure blossoming through your body. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

You met his eyes, settled your trembling hands on his shoulders for stability. It wasn’t a shock to find that you trusted him completely, entirely. “No,” you breathed.

With renewed enthusiasm, his lips descended back to your neck, his hands pushing your hips down, encouraging you to grind against his leg. Did he know how lewd that felt? How it made your toes curl and breath catch? By now the fabric was most certainly wet, showing undeniable proof of your arousal. But there was no time to think on it further when his fingers rose to swipe across your nipple, the calloused pad rough against the sensitive skin. Without anything stifle you, you moaned for him freely, only somewhat catching yourself when you remembered you had a roommate on the other side of the opposite wall. 

Dimitri seemed intent on teasing you, even if by accident. One of his hands explored your chest while the other steadied your hips. Unable to handle it a moment longer, you pulled his chin up to meet your lips once more, forgoing sweet intimacy in favor of your raw passion and lust. Then, curiously, one of your hands dropped down. Dimitri pulled in a harsh breath when you made contact with his covered erection, his body going entirely tense as he pulled away.

“Sorry,” you said, caught off guard by the reaction.

He laughed breathily, although it wasn’t a sound of any real humor. “Don’t be,” Dimitri said. A second later, he elaborated, “You surprised me.”

“Do you mind if I touch you?” you asked carefully.

Dimitri swallowed hard. “If you want to.”

“It’s just-” You sighed, then resolutely pushed your underwear from your hips, pulling them off as gracefully as you could while remaining where you were. “I’m ready.” Before your brain could catch up to your body, you pulled his fingers between your legs so he could feel how wet you were. Dimitri groaned, a sound of near helplessness, his eyes squeezing shut. The physical display of your affect on him left you weak, forcing you to refocus. “I’m ready, if you still want to,” you said, your voice far softer. By the goddess, you didn’t even care if you weren’t. All you could think was that you wanted to feel him. Fully, truly, as lovers, as partners.

Dimitri opened his eyes, his breathing forcibly steady. “It’s… Difficult,” he told you in a strained, pleading way. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He cared. You could see the tenderness, the affection in his gaze. Love? Maybe love, you could believe that he loved you. And you smiled.

“It’s okay. Um, take off your… And lay down,” you said, scooting back to give him room. Fabric shuffled, your bed wobbled slightly. A few seconds given to leave your head reeling, your stomach churning with nerves and anticipation and disbelief. Were you really going to do this?

Yes, you were.

The overwhelming sense of intimidation returned when you saw his body in full. Illustrations and descriptions didn’t match up the real thing, not perfectly at least. Straining hard and far too distracting, Dimitri’s dick was pale like him, the head blushed pink. It was harder, more threatening than you might have thought. Perhaps that was only your own sudden nerves in regards to what you intended.

“How can I… Touch you?” you asked. Dimitri was at least as red-faced as you, his body shifting in a recognizable display of self-consciousness. Uncertain. “Like this?” you asked after a moment, gently wrapping your hand around the shaft. He was so warm, the skin smooth beneath your touch. Dimitri gasped, his hips jolting a little bit.

“Y-yes,” he answered.

You took in a deep breath, moving forward to align your body with his. Would this even work? It wasn’t that you doubted biology or the salacious tales you’d read in secret, but you did doubt yourself. Just a bit. Then again, you could feel your inner muscles clenching, empty. A primal desire to feel him inside of you.

“Is this all right?” Dimitri asked. He was strained, obviously forcing himself to remain composed. “You don’t have to…”

“Hush,” you finally said. Your head was dizzy as you got up your knees, your insides trembling and hot. “Um… Tell me if I hurt you… Or anything.” You lined him up at your entrance. There was a natural feeling to this movement. Something you’d thought about, read about enough. The skin at the tip of his dick was so soft, sliding over your slick and oversensitive flesh in a way that made the muscles in your thighs tremble, your inner muscles flutter. Dimitri’s fingers squeezed your hip, and a little hiccup of a moan left your mouth.

Right.

You took it slow. With a body that was all at once strained with tension and boneless with nerves, you sunk yourself down onto his cock. It was too much to look at Dimitri laying beneath you, so your eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Inch by inch, your movements eased by your own arousal. That didn’t stop the intrusive split that came from the act. Such a strange, foreign sensation. It was too much to tell if it was good or bad, only that it was hot and immediate, that your focus was entirely centered on the sudden awareness you had of your own body and his. Dimitri was taut beneath you, his fingers digging into your skin.

He _twitched_ inside of you. It made you gasp, a shiver going up your spine you slipped the rest of the way down and he bottomed out within you, your hips becoming flush with his. The sensation of fullness was nearly overwhelming. You knew you made a sound, but you were too focused on everything else to care for the consequence right then.

“Is this… Okay?” Dimitri asked. His voice was labored, almost as if he were in pain. You opened your eyes and blinked your vision clear to meet his gaze. Blue, so blue you could drown. Even hazy with lust, they burned concern. What you felt right then was love, wasn’t it? Like a song, a grand aria, a melody that would never leave your head.

“Is it… Is it for you?” you asked. Dimitri made a sound, something like an exasperated laugh. Or a groan.

“It’s… Yes, it is.”

Almost like that was all you needed, you rocked your hips forward, grinding against him from your place astride his hips. You let out a breathless moan, a reaction of the duel and contrasting sensations of pain and pleasure. Not that it was just pain, it was intrusion. A strain of muscles before your body could grow accustomed. It was good despite that. Because of that, because it was Dimitri. The feeling of him inside of you was heady and intense and hot.

Dimitri echoed your feelings with a sound of stifled shock, his fingers digging into your hips with a bruising grip, but you were far too busy dealing with your own blast of stimulus to focus. Driven with the desire for more, you did it again, your hands settling on his firm torso for stability. And again.

Riding so low kept him buried deep inside of you, stroking a sensitive part of yourself you hadn’t even known existed. But you wanted more. It was awkward at first, the way you drew up only to go back down, but the feeling was unspeakably satisfying. Feeling him against each nerve ending as he pulled out to the very edge, only to stroke the flames all the hotter when he filled you entirely.

The second time you did it, Dimitri’s hips met yours. Your room filled with the sound of skin hitting skin, a half-stifled cry of the intense pleasured pain with the more violent thrust, and Dimitri’s lower groan. That sound clouded your head like the world’s most heady aphrodisiac. Pleasure choked you. Addictive.

Already you were breathing fast, panicked. Panting. You pulled your hips up, more comfortable with the motion now, or at least wanting it too badly to care, and the two of you fell into a rhythm. A dance of a different kind.

Dimitri’s eyes had closed, face scrunched in concentration and lip parted. His throat worked and muscles strained, hips desperately pushing against yours with a messy kind of synergy. You could tell that he was exerting all of his control to allow you full power over the pace and intensity. A gentleman, even now. Bliss fed you contentment with that thought, adoration. Pleasure hung tantalizingly at your fingertips, and you wanted it desperately. You wanted to come for him, to feel him inside as you as you fell undone. You wanted every pleasure of yours to be a reminder of this perfect moment.

“Can I… Touch you?” Dimitri asked, most of the words lost in his breathless pants and your own dreamy head fog. You opened your eyes, confused at first. His hand hovered at your pelvis. Touch you.

_Oh._

“I-if you want,” you said, hips stuttering in surprise. “You don’t have to if you don’t want, I don’t-” The rough pad of his thumb touched against your clit and your back arched, your mouth falling open in a mute cry at the bliss of the double stimulation. Dimitri looked resolute, focused. It was adorable in all the ways it was attractive, overwhelmingly hot. “Dimitri, that feels-” you moaned, choking on the last word. What could you say to tell him of the euphoria his touch brought? “Please, don’t stop,” you begged instead, feeling a new sense of urgency in riding him, in feeling him entirely.

It was no music you knew, no melody you’d ever heard. Perhaps it was only lovely to those partaking in the illicit acts, a song only they could feel. Skin slapping, moans and half-stifled cries, the absolutely lewd wet squish of the act itself. Wrong, it was all sorts of wrong, but more right than anything else.

You were meant to be his. Just like this, being filled by Dimitri, touched by him. It didn’t even matter if that was right or wrong anymore. It was love. Love that stained your thoughts the jubilant crimson of lust. You understood, lost in the half-realized madness of lust, why people did what they did to have this. Why they would strive so desperately to forget everything that hurt just for a few moments of clarity and bliss.

What wouldn’t you do to have Dimitri beneath you, inside you, filling you and moaning desperately for you? What wouldn’t you do?

Sweet madness.

“Dimitri, I-” You knew you couldn’t keep moving while you came, the feeling it was too hot, too intense. Even though you knew you were becoming unsteady, unable to sustain the rhythm, he didn’t stop. The calloused thumb on your clit continued to torture you, his thrusts not slowing down. On the contrary, he was going faster, pushing you towards release relentlessly. Even on top, you were at his mercy, weak and needy as you lost yourself past the edge of control. Peeking out from beneath your lashes you saw him. Breathing fast and flushed, but also focused, watching you. He was going to watch you-

And you _couldn’t_. You should have been embarrassed to know he could see your expression, hear your moans, but orgasm cast everything to be unbearably erotic. It made you feel everything -the slick sheen of sweat on your skin, the heat of your face and neck, Dimitri beneath you, inside you- but the hyper-sensory awareness contrasted and mingled with the daze of pleasure’s peak, it left you without disgust or shame. Only pleasure, only the wicked chase of your own physical delight. Orgasm rushed through you like the final swell of a grand musical movement, a cascade of notes twisting and curling all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes and brushing you in a moment of suspended euphoria.

But it wasn’t music or any song you knew. Only Dimitri.

Always Dimitri.

As the rush of release calmed to gentle ripples, Dimitri slowed down, his hand dropping. That confused you, as you hadn’t felt him-

With an ugly ‘umph’ you were pushed and twisted to the side, coming to a stop on your back. Dimitri turned above you, his expression flushed and focused, his body heaving with air. When he pushed back inside of you, your body jolted, back arching against him.

You laughed in delight, but the sound came to a quick and stuttered stop at the wicked pace he chose to start out with. And this did hurt, the change of angle combined with the inherent violence of his unrestrained strength. He kissed your face, your neck, and you urged him on. You wanted him to come, you wanted his pleasure to be yours. Dimitri had lost whatever veneer of control he’d maintained as he thrust desperately into you, his body flush with yours and face pressed into your neck. And you were so _sensitive_ to it all, unable to stop yourself from moaning at the way he entered you, unable to do anything but cling to him. Enveloped by Dimitri, surrounded by him. Helpless and adoring. You could feel his moans in his chest, his fast breathing hitting your neck, the pitch of his voice changing as he got nearer to his climax.

“Dimitri,” you whimpered, half out of objection to the pain of his increasingly careless lack of control and half because you _liked_ it. Dimitri groaned, a sound of shock, of pleasure, of intense and pure need. You could feel the final crescendo, the way his body went taut, his hips falling out of any discernible rhythm.

He pulled out last second, releasing over your stomach in a messy display of lust. It was hot against your skin, and there was far more of it than you’d have expected. Dimitri fell back when he was finished, the entire thing over before you could wrap your head around the shift, his back to the wall with your calf wedged into the crevice behind him.

His face and neck were flushed with red exertion, a color that darkened his lips to the color of overripe berry. Sweat glistened on porcelain his skin in a shining glaze, his chest heaving with breath. Glowing. He was glowing, you were glowing. Your choice. Your pleasure. Not your Dimitri, but for a moment -just a moment- he was yours. And you, undoubtedly, were his.

You smiled drowsily, allowing your eyes to roll back in contentment, looking to the plain ceiling you’d spent so many sleepless hours looking up at. A wave of vertigo rolled through you, disbelief at all that had just happened that was chased by distilled happiness. Curiously, you ran your fingers across the mess of semen on your stomach. It was thicker than you might have thought. The seed of human life. Courteous of him to pull out, but you doubted you could get pregnant. Since you began intensive training, the goddess had reduced your red-moon cycle to the rare spotting of blood, and you couldn’t even remember the last time you’d had that much. Almost without thought, you raised your sticky fingers to your mouth. His cum tasted decidedly salty. Bitter. Like victory. Your own personal little victory.

Dimitri pulled in a sharp breath, pulling your eyes back to him and your awareness to yourself. He was watching you with dark eyes and parted lips, an expression that could have been any dozen of different emotions. Some deeply artistic and romantic part of yourself labeled it lust, but another feared it to be disgust.

“Is something wrong?” you asked.

“No,” Dimitri said, averting his gaze from you, his incongruently dark eyelashes fluttering as his face turned down. “No. I’m… Sorry about that.” He sounded truly apologetic, an odd addition to his heavily affected and stiff tone. “I didn’t know where else to…”

Oh. _Oh._

“No, I liked it!” you said quickly. “I mean… Wasn’t that the entire point of this?” You laughed breathily, awkwardly. His mood was catching, leaving an icy space to doubt what you felt. The wake of intense pleasure left you supple and warm, full of boundless affection. Was it a misinterpretation?

“Was it?” Dimitri asked. He sounded hurt, almost. Why? His eyes flicked down over your body. So different from before, you felt exposed before him. Flayed to the bone. Under his eyes, soreness began to set in, pains you’d been ignoring in your glowing state. Now you felt the bruises he’d left littered across your skin, the aching sensitivity between your thighs. Dimitri looked away quickly, moving around your legs to sit at the edge of the bed and fish out his undergarments.

The cloud of euphoria you had felt in the moment had enveloped you entirely, but now you began to doubt that he had felt the same. You sat up to grab a handkerchief from your nightstand. An inelegant solution, but it left you clean enough to pull your bedsheet up around your exposed torso. An attempt to cover your sudden insecurity.

“Did I do something… Something wrong?” you asked. Nerves choked you, the question clogging your throat. Maybe you had been too pushy, too overt with your feelings, too much, too clingy, too much, too desperate, not enough, not enough, not-

“You?” Dimitri asked with genuine surprise. You met his gaze, trying to figure out what he felt. “It was me, I-” He hesitated, lips drawing into a line. “I hurt you. For my own selfish desires, I caused you harm. I should have known that I wouldn’t be able to control myself. I’m-”

“Was it… Did you enjoy it?” you interrupted hesitantly, feeling a touch of cold. “For me it was…” You trailed off, unable to think of any proper description and feeling a blush develop at the mere memory. “It was perfect, for me.” 

“But I hurt you,” Dimitri responded, his guilt shining clearly.

“And I liked it,” you said in a nearly petulant tone. “Did you?”

He held your gaze a moment before looking away, cheeks flushed. “I did,” he answered, his voice softer.

“So it’s okay,” you said, gladly relieved. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“If that’s what you wish,” Dimitri responded. His eyebrows unfurrowed, his posture loosened, but somehow, no matter how badly you yearned for it, you knew to convince him to believe you truly was a losing battle. The pang of understanding made your heart ache. Two steps forward, one step back. No. One step forward, two steps back. Dimitri was always going to be unreachable, wasn’t he? Out of sync.

“Are you going to leave?” you asked.

“I shouldn’t stay out too late. I’m certain Dedue is already looking for me.” He sighed, pulling on his trousers. “Besides, orders regarding our next mission could come at any moment. We should both get some rest so we can be at the ready.”

“Are you going to sleep?” you asked, watching him get dressed with a heavy feeling in your chest. Dimitri looked up, his suit coat halfway on and hair ridiculously messy. Adorably messy.

“I-” he said, frowning. “I don’t know.”

“If you’re not worn out enough, I’m willing to go again,” you teased. A joke, but you knew very well that if he wanted that of you, you would happily oblige.

Dimitri just blushed, looking away while buttoning up his coat. “It’s not my body that protests,” he said. Unfortunately, you knew what he meant in your very soul You knew that there was nothing you could say to him, either.

But when he sat back down to lace his boots, you couldn’t help but throw your arms around his shoulders in an awkward sideways hug. Dimitri stiffened, but your arms tightened for a moment, holding as close to him as you could. Selfishly clinging to him even knowing you didn’t have the strength to keep him with you. Finally, feeling his approaching admonishment, you released him.

“If I could stay, I would,” he told you, although you knew it to be a lie. His awkward demeanor was obvious. He did not want the love you wished to give to him, or to suffer the affectionate embrace you so desired. He was feeling something cold and separate. Regret, maybe. Or guilt. You didn’t know, couldn’t even begin to guess. He wouldn’t tell you regardless.

Not because he was a bad person, or even an unfeeling person. In fact, you were certain it was the opposite. It dawned on you right then that perhaps you were both pretty selfish.

Dimitri laced his boots, stood, pulled on his cloak. You watched, not wanting to get up without anything to cover yourself.

“I suppose that’s all,” he said. Awkward. You forced a smile.

“You’ve indulged me so much tonight, I… Thank you, Dimitri.” Was that an odd thing to say? You didn’t know how else to express your feelings, save for telling him the truth. And the truth was ugly and unwanted, your heart an eyesore to a man like him. It didn’t matter. “I really had a good time. Probably the best night of my life, you know? Thank you. I-” _Love you_. You cleared your throat. “Anyways, be safe on your way back. You never know who might be hiding in the dark.” Did he believe your smile? You did, kind of.

Dimitri nodded, allowing you a smile of his own.

“That’s true,” he said. “I will be on my guard. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

There was a moment -the smallest fraction of a second- that you wondered if there might be more. Dimitri hesitated, looking back at you with his lips halfway parted. It felt an awful lot like hope.

Then he left. The door shut quickly behind his retreating blue cape, hope abating. You fell back onto your bed. Sweaty sheets, messy hair, bruises covering your skin. It wasn’t comfortable, not in the slightest. On top of that, the ceiling looked different when you were alone. Somehow.

Time passed, how much of it you weren’t sure. You began humming. It didn’t help the silence in any meaningful way, and when you realized which song you’d chosen you felt an empty pang.

It still had no title.

“So don’t you cry,” you mumbled, only half attempting to hit the notes. It didn’t matter. You had no audience, only yourself. “Close your eyes.” You did so, closing out the sight of your lonesome room. “Soon the sun will rise.”

Not long after, your candles flickered out.


	7. Dramma giocoso Opus 5 No.1

**Opus 5, No. 1  
Dramma giocoso  
Act I. Apertura di Domani**

Morning came. With it, awareness. A far off clanging of the hourly bells and the cold light of the winter sun slanting in through the thin window by your door, landing across your face and painting your vision with the red of your eyelids. Disgruntled and groggy, you moved away from the harsh beam, but it was too late. Coherent thoughts teased at the edges of your mind, the discomforts of a cottony mouth and a foot half-frozen from sticking out from your blankets. You fought it but even as you buried your face into your pillow and snuggled more comfortably into your blanket cocoon, distant recall was unearthed from the half-awake sludge of your brain. Each second ticked by with a more firm sense of lucidity, and eventually, you could no longer avoid reality. 

The White Heron Ball. The Goddess Tower.

Dimitri. You and Dimitri.

Your stomach flopped at the idea, all remnants of sleep wiped from your mind. Even as you tried to convince yourself it must have been a dream, that you were still half asleep and dazed, your eyes opened. Sure enough, evidence of the truth that surrounded you. The torn dress on your floor, candles melted to drippy stubs, a used handkerchief cast uncaringly aside. Other things, too. Bruises, sore feet, a twinge in your core. And memories, lingering feelings. Unrestrained desire upon seeing the fully revealed expanse of Dimitri’s body, his fair skin marked with scars and deceptively slim frame muscular and firm. A dizzy, shivering sensation when he looked at you with eyes half-lidded with lust, your reckless arousal to see his expression drawn with feral desire. The taste of his kiss, cider; his skin, salt. The masculine musky scent that filled your lungs when you were close, the sound of his groans rumbling in his chest. Dimitri’s lips on yours, his hands holding your hips, your bodies joined together, his touch unraveling you, sensation, stimulus, pleasure-

Dimitri, overwhelming you completely.

Memory rolled down your spine like a chill, urging action. Pushing off the comfortable blankets, you rolled out of bed and stood. It was too fast. The sudden shift nearly knocked you back down, head spinning and vision filled with spots. Pains that had been less noticeable while laying down demanded your attention. Without cover, your skin was exposed to the cool air of your room and prickled with cold. But you remained upright, blinking your vision clear. You had to see.

Reflected in the mirror was the truth entire. Bleary eyes, skin marked with bruises, and surrounded by a halo decidedly unruly hair. It was the appearance of someone who, last night, had given herself fully to a man. Studying your reflection, you tried to determine if you could detect a change. You were, after all, a virgin no longer. A girl made woman, unfit for the pure marriage your father had so carefully planned for. What would he say? You could almost imagine it. His anger, his disgust. His darling daughter ruined by a man she could never hope to keep. In that, at least, he would have been right. Shaking the thought from your mind, you took an even breath to steady yourself, watching your chest rise and fall with the action, following the trail of naked skin towards to find a change. Nothing.

Meeting your reflected eyes once more, you realized that the songs and stories were all wrong. Nothing had changed. Not you, not your feelings. They had been set as surely as if they had been carved into stone for far longer than last night. A dozen moments could have been the genesis; the night Dimitri happened upon you playing by the lake, that first battle when you were a puppet to the elation of victory, the stories he shared in the shadow of the stables; although you couldn’t entirely believe it was any of those moments, cherished as they were. The truth was far more simple, a cliche. Love at first sight. Twice over. It had always been Dimitri, even when he had been little more than an ephemeral dream in a dreary childhood. You would have had greater luck asking the wind to stop blowing than to stop your heart from loving him truly, to stop last night from being an inevitable consequence of your feelings.

You hadn’t changed, it was still the same you in the mirror.

As the memories continued, that thought lost its painful sense of charm. It was just you. Alone.

Dimitri’s goodbye finally came to be considered. It was an unbearably bitter aftertaste to the sugary sweetness of your coupling. As his final words returned to you, doubt followed, anxiety about the consequences of your thoughtless actions. Not for your sake, but his. For what it meant for him. To your love, you were powerless. But he was powerless, too. Dimitri was powerless against the goals he so desperately strived for, the drive that be belonged to so completely that his future was not his own. Last night had been a wish granted, and a reminder. No matter what you wished for, what you felt, Dimitri was not yours.

Despite the finger-shaped bruises on your hips, the soreness between your thighs, the red marks pulled to your neck by his overeager mouth. Despite the intoxicating and incomparable intimacy you shared. He was not yours.

Maybe you did worry about the consequences of your actions for your own sake, maybe you could only pretend to be selfless.

You looked away from the mirror and covered the evidence of his affections by getting dressed, pulling the collar of your uniform coat snug against your neck. With the same rigid efficiency, you wiped the makeup from under your eyes and brushed away the knots in your hair, tying it back. How frustrating that, despite your attempts in ignoring it all, your eyes burned with the threat of tears, your chest clenching on an empty feeling of loneliness.

It was silly, stupid. From the very start, you’d known that you couldn’t want for something more. You had to do as you told him last night, reject expectations of the future and live for what you had. Cling to these fleeting memories of perfection, moments to hang on your wall when the night was too dark and the silence too loud. You could do that.

The pain would pass.

Washing your mouth and smoothing down your hair for a final time, you rubbed the burn from your eyes and set out for the day, not wishing to linger in your lonely room with your circular thoughts. There was no class today, but that didn’t mean you could spend it wallowing.

The cool wintery sun that had woken you up blazed above. It brought light to the bright blue sky stretched above the monastery, although did little to warm the academy grounds. Clouds gathered on the horizons, bringing a faint mugginess made the chill air that much cooler. Judging by that, the hour was later than you usually woke up, although you could see similar grogginess among your fellow classmates. The ball had been quite the excitement.

At first, something akin to paranoia ran like bugs across your skin as you made your way to the dining hall, fear that everyone would see past your uniform to the memory of Dimitri’s touch littering your skin, that they would notice the odd gait you adopted as a result of the soreness nestled between your legs. But nobody gave you a second glance as you crossed the monastery grounds. They didn’t know what had happened, what indulgence you had committed. And even if they did, would anyone believe that you had lost your virginity to Dimitri, the crown prince of Faerghus? The only one who knew was you.

And him.

Even knowing it was a slim chance considering the hour, you couldn’t help but scan the crowd to find a familiar face. A splash of blue, of gold. Then again, during the day it was just as easy to find Dimitri by looking near the unmistakably tall figure of Dedue. You knew the poor odds, yet you found yourself disappointed in his absence. You wanted desperately to speak to him, to know what he felt. Not that he would discuss such things during the day, when other people were around. Normally he was too preoccupied for much of anything during the day. Training, studying, lost in thought. You wanted to see him anyway, to settle for simply being near him. Silly Thoughts. Your stomach grumbling was hardly an appealing trait to present in your misguided wooing attempts.

Half lost in your dramatic thoughts, you entered the dining hall and cut through the crowd. Waiting in the line, being served, and turning with your tray to find a place to sit were all done with automatic movements, your mind wallowing disconnected stream of worry and wishful thinking as you followed routine. Preoccupation kept you company with its bland ignorance, but not even you could zone out so thoroughly to miss the familiar voice.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Sylvain said, greeting you with his ever-popular smooth voice and easy smile, falling into step at your side. “I can’t help but notice that you look lonely. Care for some company?”

You nearly stumbled at the shock of being pulled from your thoughts so abruptly, head jerking sideways to look up at him. Sylvain looked as good as he always did, red hair messy but not unkempt and his uniform sloppy but not slovenly.

It was strange, but not altogether surprising, that seeing him would be such a happy relief. “Good morning,” you responded a beat too late to be entirely natural. Your voice was raspy, dry from disuse.

“Whoops, I didn’t mean to surprise you,” Sylvain said, clearly unrepentant. “You looked like you were really lost in thought. I’ve seen that look before, you know. You were thinking about someone, right?”

“Uh, yes…” you said before thinking. Sylvain’s smile grew at getting such an easy confession, urging you to quickly clarify, “Well, not exactly. I was thinking about how I wished I had someone to eat with.”

“Really? That’s strange, I was just thinking that I’d love to start my day by enjoying the company of a cute girl,” Sylvain said. “Having us meet like this must be some act of fate.”

Some part of you still felt embarrassed by his casual flirtations, even after all the months past. Another tugged a smile onto your face, feeling a sort of comfort in the familiarity of Sylvain’s slippery charm.

“Must be,” you responded. “Is right here okay?” You paused at the uninhabited end of one of the tables situated on the opposite side of the glaring sunshine slanting in through the windows. It was difficult to not hold a grudge against its rude awakening.

“Here? Are you sure?” Sylvain offered, half-raising an eyebrow. “We could always go somewhere with a bit more privacy.”

“Maybe some other time,” you responded, shrugging off the flirtatious question.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Sylvain responded, smiling as he set down his plate and took the seat across from yours. “You know, now that I think about it, it’s pretty late for you to be getting breakfast. You’re usually up early, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess I slept in a little long. Not that I meant too, but..” You shrugged, frowning at the reminder.

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Sylvain soothed. “Personally, I think it’s pretty cute that you’re finally learning to loosen up a bit. I was worried His Highness had rubbed off on you.”

Well, that was one way to put it.

You made to sit, only to freeze when a pinching sort of pain between your legs caught you off guard, pulling a half-stifled squeak of surprise from your mouth. A not-so-subtle reminder of the strenuous activities of last night. It was impossible to cover for the reaction, so you opted to keep your head down as you sat, ignoring the unfamiliar pain and his curious gaze by grabbing your fork and picking through the pile of rubbery eggs on your tray. 

You willed the blush on your cheeks to cool. Sylvain couldn’t possibly know what you knew, or have been tipped off to what had happened by such a minute response. The reaction was no different than if you were sore from training, he would have no reason to suspect it was anything other than that. Yes, absolutely no reason-

“Sore?” Sylvain asked you knowingly. You stiffened, even more blood pooling in your cheeks as you looked up to his playful grin.

“What?” you asked.

“I guess I was right to worry,” Sylvain said, leaning in as if to conspire. “Did Dimitri work you a little too hard? His Highness isn’t really one to take it easy on people, I take it you’re no exception.”

Your stomach dropped low, the words only furthering the flush burning your skin. “How… How did you know what we….” you stuttered, physically unable to find coherency as you gaped at the man. “Did Dimitri tell you?”

“Wait, what?” Sylvain asked, his eyes wide in surprise. Genuine surprise. “I was kidding, but…” He leaned back, shock resolving into a thoughtful expression. “So you and Dimitri. Huh.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I mean, he asked me for advice, but… Damn, I didn’t think he had it in him.” Sylvain’s head tilted upwards, a smirk curling his lips. “Or, I guess, had it in _you_.”

A burst of indignant embarrassment was quick to ignite within you in response, your brain sputtering as it tried to think of a reaction other than the desire to melt out of existence. At first it was just shock that he would go that far, but then came the burn of regret that you had been tricked into admitting the truth right away. Anger invited itself as a quick rebuff of the crass joke to finish it all off, but after a second of facing Sylvain’s mischievous expression with your own disastrously flustered one, you decided to give it up.

“That was a joke- Huh?” Sylvain’s reflexive explanation cut off abruptly when he noticed the fact that you were clearly trying to swallow down a fit of giggles. His expression changed from overzealously apologetic to confused, the look doing nothing to help you from stopping yourself from the first bubbles of laughter. It was just too awful. Embarrassing, not to mention juvenile. Prying into something so personal and attacking the very thing you were most self-conscious about. Even still, the joke was a little funny. In a crude way. Completely awful. So you laughed. “Uh… Are you okay?” he asked nervously. “I was just trying to be funny, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Something about his tone of voice only made you laugh harder.

You nodded in response to his concern, breathless and unable to speak, waving your hands as if to deflect it. This was the wrong reaction, you knew that. Maybe you were more tired than you thought, exhausted by everything that had happened. There was no other explanation for why you were laughing. Certainly not at the joke, such as it was, and especially not at the fact that you’d just accidentally revealed a disastrous secret to him. Perhaps it was therapeutic. Laughing was good, cleansing, wasn’t it? Medicine of the same strain as music.

Eventually, you got yourself under control, wiping tears from your eyes and taking a heavy breath. “Sorry, that was… I don’t want to be rude, but your jokes really are terrible, Sylvain,” you said, still smiling.

He chuckled, although there was an awkward pinch of uneasiness to the sound, like he was still waiting for you to berate him. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before. Can’t say I’ve ever heard that from someone who laughed so hard, though.”  
  
“Sorry,” you said again, shaking your head to clear it. Like a leaf caught in a stiff breeze, your mood shifted, laughter no longer fighting off the embarrassment of before. “You, uh, you won’t tell anyone, right? About me and… And Dimitri.” 

“Huh? Of course not.” Sylvain laughed casually, although there was an abashed quality to it. He still eyed you cautiously, ready to be rebuked. “But…”

“What is it?” You asked when he didn’t continue that thought, eyebrows furrowing at the discomfort of his continued staring. Maybe you would have to yell at him after all.

Luckily, Sylvain’s gaze dropped as he shook his head, bewilderment crossing his expression. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for him. Dimitri needs a reason to loosen up more than any of us but… Wow.” He let the thought end there, picking up his fork to pick through breakfast.  
  
You let out a sigh of relief. “Yeah… Wow,” you echoed. If you stopped to think about it, you felt just as much surprise as Sylvain about the turn of events, the vertigo from the morning returning. Considering all you knew about Dimitri, perhaps it was all more shocking to you. But, having nothing else to add, you followed suit in digging in.

The food, cold as it was, didn’t taste half as bad when you had company. Odd how that worked. Even the quiet between the two of you wasn’t so bad. In fact, you half wondered if you were actually glad that one other person knew your secret. That made it more real, somehow. And besides, as much of a reputation as Sylvain had, you were certain that he was a good person. Out of any of your other classmates, you imagined he was probably one of the best. He wouldn’t judge and could keep a secret.

“I guess this means I don’t have a chance with you,” Sylvain suddenly said, before the silence could get too stale. From any other man, those words could have been uncomfortable, but a line was a line and Sylvain was a phony philanderer to his core. It made you smile, set at ease by knowing that things would be the same. That was good. Normalizing. You were still you, just like Sylvain was always Sylvain. And Dimitri… He would always be Dimitri.

“Sorry,” you replied, smiling with an apology you didn’t feel.

“Figured as much. That’s a shame, I’ve always wanted to date a musician, you know. Well, if he ever breaks your heart, I’m more than happy to be your shoulder to cry on,” he said, winking.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“But if you break his…” Sylvain continued, his tone losing that playful sound in favor of a hard edge. “I’ll never forgive you.” His expression had become serious, eyes intense. Through a veneer of pretend, you saw the truth.

“You really care about him,” you said, feeling impressed at the revelation rather than intimidated by the threat. After all, the idea of you breaking Dimitri’s heart was more devastating than any threat.

Sylvain blinked, surprised by your reaction. Just as quickly, that was casually shrugged off, his easy demeanor returning. “Yeah, I guess I do. Someone’s gotta look after him, he’s _hopeless_ when it comes to girls.”

“You’d be surprised,” you replied without thinking.

That made Sylvain laugh. “He might have you fooled right now, but just wait. Do you know what he gave the first girl he fell for?”

The first girl he fell for? For a reason you didn’t like, you felt more curious about that than the gift, but you forced yourself to play along. “No.”

“A dagger,” Sylvain said, leaning in on his elbows to properly emphasize the answer. Then he hesitated, head tilting as he fixed you with a worried look. “He hasn’t given you a dagger, has he? I swear, I keep telling him that girls are delicate, that they should be showered in candy and flowers. Unfortunately, Dimitri is as stubborn as ever. He doesn’t understand girls like I do.”

“He hasn’t given me a dagger,” you replied, slightly amused by the idea. How utterly Dimitri. But from him, that didn’t sound like such a bad gift.

“Heh, maybe there’s hope for him yet.”

Sylvain seemed satisfied with leaving things at that, but you were caught up on what he’d said before, trying to think of a way to ask about the girl Dimitri had given said dagger to. But, before you could speak, you were cut off by an abrupt interruption to your table. He came to a loud, halting stop above you. A Knight of Seiros, slightly winded. He was armored in standard Garreg Mach guard fashion, red faced and anxious. Youthful, maybe only a handful of years older than you.

“You’re Professor Byleth’s students?” he asked without introduction or preamble. While inciting a fair share of startled curiosity, the question also made your heart sink. It could only mean a select few things, and none of them boded well for the easy morning you had hoped for.

“We are,” Sylvain said, looking from you to the knight with a curious hesitance. 

“There’s been an… Incident,” the knight said, his voice lowering with the last word. “Arm yourselves and report to Captain Jeralt and Professor Byleth in the front hall right away.”

“What was the incident?” you asked in an equal hush, cool panic coming to life in your chest in place of the concern, squeezing your heart.

The knight looked around, hesitating as he eyed the dining room. He had caused a commotion, drawing the attention of nearly all of the surrounding students. This was bad news, and everyone could tell. Bad enough that he worried about the reaction. “I can’t say here,” he told you both with a softer voice. “But it is absolutely vital that you hurry.” He leaned down, his voice lowering further, somehow. “There are lives at stake.”

“Understood,” Sylvain responded firmly, his playful expression wiped clean in favor of one of determination. The knight bowed, then moved on, his pace a panicked rush.

You let out a heavy breath to steady yourself, closing your eyes for the slightest second in an attempt to collect yourself. To become the knight you needed to be. When they opened, you nodded to Sylvain. No longer was he your playful, flirtatious dining companion, but one of the most formidable combatants you knew.

He stood. “Let’s go.”

**Dramma giocoso  
Act I. Coro della Pioggia**

Students trapped in by monsters within the so-called safety of the monastery walls. If you were given any time to contemplate the mission before the Blue Lions were marched out alongside a handful of knights to deal with the issue, that idea would have terrified you.

As it was, there was no time for thinking. The things that greeted you in the chapel square weren’t normal demonic beasts, if you could ever consider a demonic beast ‘normal’. Somehow, these were worse. Horrific creatures wrapped in bandage-like black skin, their narrow heads eyeless and jagged-toothed mouth’s foul. They were strong, too. Far more than any of beasts you had fought before.

You, Felix, and Annette had been sent to the western side of the square while everyone else moved on to take care of the beasts further in. Not great numbers, but there were too many of the things to have the entire class fight them one by one. Besides, Professor Byleth had trained you well. Even without your beloved pegasus Siobhan, you were deadly.

That was good because although the monster you faced was bleeding in a dozen places, the wounds hadn’t done anything to stop it from rearing up and rampaging forward, swiping at any in-range victim with enough force to break on impact and belching flames. Cold and humid air, blackened with smoke from the fires, wheezed in thick bursts through your lungs as you jumped out of the way again, avoiding the swipe of demonic claws by no more than an inch.

 _Too close!_ You were getting sloppy, panicking as the fight dragged on.

Hitting the ground in a hard roll knocked the breath from your lungs and would certainly leave you aching later on, but you were on your feet in seconds, moving in a fluid, battle-fueled frenzy. 

Still too slow.

The demon whirled, finding you easily despite the lack of eyes and hacking out more of its noxious flames, sending you into a mad dance out of the way. The scent of singed fabric coiled around you, although there was no time to check if you were burned or not. Any pain was ignored, as was the way your eyes watered and nose ran from the smoke. All you could do was blink rapidly and try to breathe in as little as possible as you pitched forward, still the subject of the beast’s focus. As much as you disliked it, that was apart of the plan. Being the fastest of your team, using you as bait was the best possible short-term strategy for this vile, violent creature. Hopefully it was enough, you weren’t sure how much more you could-  
  
The monster wailed as Felix took advantage of the distraction you created by deepening the large gash on its neck into a mortal wound. Beast blood sprayed from the slash in a dramatic arc, painting the cobblestones and splattering over you. The smell was a disgusting mixture of acrid ammonia and hot human decay. A butcher house under the summer sun. A back alley running with the urine and blood of sleazy violence. The monster twisted around, letting out a horrific screech of agony, but Felix was too fast for its enraged and clumsy movements.

Following him, you scrambled away from the demon as it thrashed about, sputtering blood and weak flames, thick strings of saliva and bile dripping from its teeth as it struggled to breathe. Air pushed out from its mouth as if from a giant pair of bellows, but its inhale yielded nothing but a strangled gurgle. It reared up. For a moment, you worried that it would land a final, dying attack, rampaging towards the both of you in one last act of destruction.

Magic beat against its legs in a quick succession of blinding power. Annette stood at a dozen foot distance from the creature, her hands outstretched and face a pale mask of focus as she shot spell after spell at the thing.

And that was it. The monster lumbered around to face her, but it was too weakened and disoriented to move more than that. Felix had cut at exactly the right place, cutting off its flow of oxygen as well as catching a major artery. Blood gushed from the wound out at a rate you could hardly believe and air wheezed out as a chilling death rattle. Annette’s magic had ruined its legs, working into the gashes and hobbling it. 

The demon toppled, a final attempt to scream echoing against the ruins.

Inky, bandage-like skin unraveled from the beast’s form, dissolving into the smokey air like powdery ash with each of its writhing, thrashing movements. The smell was revolting, the sight confusing. By the time it was over, the hulking creature had vanished.

Its body never came crashing to the ground.

Although noise raged all around you; the shouting of students, of knights, the crackling of flames, and the general chaos of battle; cold horror formed a chrysalis of stillness in your head. The beast was gone. A human body laid where the monster’s corpse should have. Shock swept through your veins, long-ignored nausea pulsing at the back of your throat. Monster blood was drying on your skin and puddled on the ground, the stones at your feet were charred by flame, and rampaged destruction surrounded you - all of it proof of the beast’s existence. Yet there was no longer any beast.

A student, one of those you had been helping rescue from the rampaging monster, rushed to the broken body, shouting a name. Some instinct wanted you to stop her, to save her from the beast, but there was no longer any danger. Just a body. Your ears rang with the beast’s great wail, masking the girl’s cries as she pulled the boy’s corpse into her arms, uncaring of the beast’s blood that stained her uniform.

A human corpse.

A beast.

“Like Miklan,” Felix noted darkly, standing close enough for his voice to cut through the static in your ears. Recognition came to life with his comment, understanding of why this scene felt so morbidly familiar. Miklan. Sylvain’s brother, the one who had been consumed by the awesome power of the Relic weapon Ruin and turned into some inhuman monstrosity. In death, he had been nothing but more than a man, the monstrous trinket of House Gautier’s blood-bound weapon at his side.

But… That only happened because of the Relic. Ruin, one of the weapons of the Ten Elites. Professor Byleth had told the class to keep what had happened in Conand Tower a secret, to never speak of Miklan’s fate to anyone lest fear spread discord among the students. He said that it was not going to happen to anyone else as long as they didn’t misuse the relics.

“How is that possible?” you asked Felix, turning away from the sight of the corpse. “Without a Relic, how could he…?” The question fell unfinished, the thought made incomplete by your fear of the answer. Even Felix, ever stoic, looked troubled. He was much better at pushing aside his personal feelings, however, and adopted a look of focus.

“It doesn’t matter. We should push on to Professor Byleth,” he said. “The knights will see to the students here.”

Right. No time to slow down and think. Swallowing down the sick feeling in your throat, you turned. “Annette!” you called, your voice raspy and throat singed by the smoke. She looked up at your call, her face ashen as she stood above the student’s body. Knights and other students had congregated there, confused and disoriented and scared. Of course they were, it didn’t make any sense. Even to you, to Felix and Annette, the sight was incomprehensible. When she met your eyes, you saw a reflection of the feelings you were trying to ignore. For a moment, her wide eyes spoke of a doe-like panic, an animal before it fled. But she was strong. Her expression hardened and she nodded, resolute as she hurried to you and Felix.

“That was… Kinda awful,” she said, playing off her anxiety with awkward casualness as she approached. Something more was hidden in those words, the questions none of you wanted to ask about what you had just witnessed. 

“We don’t have time to talk about it,” Felix said. “I can’t hear any more beasts, they might have already taken care of the rest. Either way, we should go.”

“You’re hurt,” Annette said, her eyes fixing on your left arm. You followed her gaze. Oh. The fire had gotten you after all. Burns were such awful wounds, but these weren’t terrible. Relatively. Your sleeve was worn through from the flame in several spots, revealing bright red and blistering skin. As if to make up for the time you’d been able to ignore it, pain swept through you. The terrible stinging, insistent bite of heat. Burns were nasty, constantly vying for your attention, refusing to be ignored.

“I’m… I’m fine,” you said, looking away from the sight and pulling a vulnerary from your belt, downing the contents with a wince. The liquid was bitter, doing nothing to help with the nausea invited by the scent of the demon’s blood and smoke, but it was better than lingering on the pain. “We should hurry.”

“Yes. Let’s go,” Felix said impatiently, without concern. All of you had sustained worse injury and pulled through. That was the price of battle.

“I’m sure Mercy will help when we catch up with them,” Annette said helpfully, adopting a forcefully positive tone.

“That’s true,” you agreed, although the thought of getting to Mercedes was not your drive to get to the chapel. Even in the midst of a battlefield, you longed to catch up to Dimitri, to Professor Byleth. They would make things right, drive away your fear and worry.

Annette looked back a final time as you left the western area of the square, but you did not. You couldn’t bear to see the destruction or chaos, to think again about the implications of that vulnerable human body laying where a monster should have. The three of you moved quickly towards the chapel, at the ready for any indication of danger. Just as Felix had said, there were no longer any resounding roars of beasts echoing through the muggy air. That was a good sign.

At the same time, you couldn’t help but feel there was something off. Clouds filled the sky above, crowding in to hide the sun and condensing in the air. The promise of rain stuck the scent of smoke to your skin, the chill of it an uncomfortable sensation against your sweaty skin. Your arm throbbed. People passed, but no faces you recognized. Students escorted by knights who gave your little group curt nods of recognition. Other than that was an eerie sense of quiet, the pressure of a coming storm. Did it seem to have gathered too quickly? Too strangely?

The three of you finally rounded the corner of one of the destroyed structures, having to weave around massive chunks of rubble to get to the chapel.

And you saw him.

Blue, first. A blue so intense it drained all else of the spectrum in the area surrounding it. Golden hair, a lance in hand, speaking with Alois in a voice you could almost hear. The sky was darkening, the daylight drained away by the promise of storm, but Dimitri was brilliant. He was battle worn, but unharmed. It seemed everyone else had made it out all right, too. Mercedes was seeing to the wounds of an unhappy Ingrid, Dedue stood at Dimitri’s side, and the others were nearby helping the remaining students and knights get free of the rubble and tending to the very worst of the wounded. Every face was ashen, troubled. They had all seen the same horror.

The deep unease within you faded somewhat when Dimitri saw your group, his eyebrows unfurrowing just slightly. “Ah, we were beginning to grow worried,” he called, his expression one of relief as he turned from Alois. “I was about to leave to find you.”

Felix made a sound of derision, approaching with a casual gait. “As if we’d need your help,” he said coldly.

Dimitri nodded in easy acceptance of Felix’s rude behavior, his eyes scanning each of you. He lingered on the burn on your arm, a feeling that made you squirm in a way that had nothing to do with the pain. The burns didn’t hurt very badly after the vulnerary, but his gaze most certainly had an effect. As did the worry in his expression.

“We took care of the beast,” Annette said, her forcefully friendly voice offsetting Felix’s sour tone. “All of the students are safe in that area.”

Dimitri looked away from you quickly, clearing his throat. “I’m glad to hear that. We were successful over here as well. Professor Byleth and Captain Jeralt are investigating the chapel.” He gestured to the giant edifice across from the group. Destroyed. Utterly so. The main entrance, or whatever remained of it, was on the other side.

“Alone?” you asked.

The sky grew darker still. The storm was setting itself up to be a frightening thing, fog beginning to rise in the cool air. Something about that didn’t sit right with you. Reflecting your thoughts, Felix’s shoulders were still unnaturally tense, his sharp gaze roaming the area restlessly. Then again, that wasn’t uncommon behavior for him.

“Captain Jeralt asked that we ensure everyone involved was okay before joining them,” Alois said in his usual boisterous manner, although you couldn’t help but feel that it was strained, an act put on to set everyone at ease. “Hah! Leaving us to do the cleanup while he gets to play investigator, how very like him.”

“Now that everyone is here, perhaps it would be wise to check on their search,” Dedue said, looking towards the chapel. His voice was as unmoved as ever, but you could see the signs of worry in the way his eyebrows furrowed and lips drew tense.

“I’ll go,” Dimitri said.

“Me too,” you volunteered without thinking.

“You’re injured,” Dimitri pointed out, frowning.

“It’s nothing,” you said, frowning at him. He had to feel it, too. Something was wrong. The storm, the monsters. Cold crept up your spine, tingled over your sweaty scalp. A wet breeze made you shiver, a dull ache rolling down your arm. The clouds swirled in smears of steel, of slate, the forboding hues of charcoal darkening where they were the thickest. “We need to get back to the monastery before this storm gets too bad anyway.”

“Right,” Dimitri said with only slight hesitation, giving a resolute nod before turning to Alois. “Alois, can you see that everyone here is taken back to the monastery?” Dimitri asked.

“Sure I can,” Alois responded. “Although I was hoping to enjoy this fog. Last time I _mist_ my chance, although I suppose I can just _dew_ it later.” He smiled at everyone in turn with expectant eyes, trying so brazenly to relieve the tension. A tittering, vapid sort of giggle left your mouth without thought, a sound born of anxiety. It only highlighted the resounding silence following his terrible joke. At the very least, Alois brightened slightly at the reaction. “Right, yes. I’ll see that everyone is safely back to the monastery.”

“Thanks. We won’t be long,” Dimitri said. He looked at you. “Let’s go then.”

You nodded, trying to smother some of your worry with logic. Dimitri set out and you followed, pushing yourself to keep up with his long-legged stride. It was not surprising that Dedue fell into step as well. Some part of you felt bad for leaving the group to themselves, for shirking your duties to your class. But the first beasts had been found in the chapel. Beasts that were students that were monsters without Relics. Something was wrong.

The three of you rounded the broken down structure that once was the grand chapel. Now it was grand ruins. So much history destroyed in a single afternoon, it was nearly tragic. The artist in you mourned the beauty.

Thick fog was settling the dust of destruction, but it was also making the stone and grass slippery. Not only that, but the foggy darkness lessened visibility. You restlessly searched your surroundings as you walked, unease growing by the moment.

“Did something, um… Strange happen? When you killed the beasts, I mean,” you asked the two of them in a lowered voice. You scanned the terrain once more, trying to see past the trees, into the shadows created by fallen pillars.

“We can discuss that later,” Dimitri replied. That was a yes.

You wanted to push it further, if only just to offset the tension, but a raindrop hit your face. Then another. One, two, three. Heavy and wet, cold like ice.

“What’s with this weather?” you asked, half speaking to yourself. Like an ill omen, your words beckoned the storm. Just as soon as the rain had appeared, it was pounding down. The clouds created the darkened cast of night, the intensity of it sweeping in far too fast to be natural.

“Something’s wrong,” Dedue said, his low voice carrying. Your breath caught, but he wasn’t looking at you. He stared straight ahead, his face drawn tense.

“I agree,” Dimitri said, hurrying the last few paces to round the corner.

A grassy field sprawled in front of the destroyed chapel. You had seen it in the daylight before, the verdant grass swaying with the breeze, but now it was darkened by the storm into a gloomy, intimidating court of fog and ruin. Rain grew heavier by the minute, it pounded against the remains of the chapel with a furious hammering of sound, its icy fingers crawling beneath your clothes. Through the dark, through the veil of rain, a figure in the center of the field. Fog swirled, tumultuous, and you saw Professor Byleth with more clarity. He knelt on the ground, holding something. Someone.

“That’s Professor Byleth… and… Captain Jeralt?” Dimitri asked, his voice hushed. Your heart lurched, reality pulling inwards and freezing the air in your lungs as fear of possibility and dread overwhelmed you. And then Dimitri was running, calling out to Professor Byleth in a voice weakened by the aggression of the storm. Far off thunder rumbled uncertainly.

“Your Highness,” Dedue called, following behind. You couldn’t move at first, held in place by a dissonance of the mind. But you didn’t want to be alone. Blinking raindrops from your eyes, you ran. Wooden legs carried you forward as you followed Dedue across the field, your feet coming close to slipping on the wet grass with every step. His looming figure stopped before getting too close, hesitant to cross some unseen barrier created by the dead.

The dead.

Professor Byleth knelt on the ground with his back bowed against the assault of the storm. Below him, Captain Jeralt was absolutely still. A crimson bloom of blood stained his middle, running thin and pink with rainwater. Professor Byleth looked vulnerable in a way you had never seen him, drenched by rain and despair.

Acting on some weak, childish instinct, you reached out your hand. Seeking desperately, you found Dedue’s hand. Clinging to it. You were shaking, but he was steady. The large, calloused hand that you gripped was warm. Where you were weak, Dedue faced death with the steadfast and patient familiarity of a man long denied the comfort of ignorance. He had every right to shake off your grasp, but while his reaction was stiff and uncomfortable, he didn’t.

“Professor,” Dimitri said, slowly kneeling to at eye level with Byleth.

You held tighter to Dedue’s hand. His fingers curled around yours.

Professor Byleth didn’t raise his head, still staring at Jeralt’s face. He said something you couldn’t hear, his voice lost in the sound of rain. Whatever it was made Dimitri go rigid. His answer was spoken at an equally quiet volume, but the intensity was clear. It made Professor Byleth finally look up. His expression was unlike you’d ever seen, cracked with pain and emotion. Dimitri said something else, and Professor Byleth nodded. The pain didn’t ease, but it was masked over with grim determination.

Dedue took a step forward, your hand falling free from his. “Your Highness. We need to return to the monastery,” he said. “Whoever did this could still be nearby.”

Dimitri didn’t respond to Dedue, his eyes not straying from Professor Byleth. He asked a question, motioning towards Captain Jeralt. Someone would have to carry his body back, you realized. That was the question. The burden Dimitri was ready to bear.

Professor Byleth looked down at his father’s face a last time, a foreign tenderness in his expression. Pain. His gloved fingers traced Captain Jeralts cheek, but he nodded, standing up. Dimitri pulled off his cape to cover Captain Jeralt’s face, a late attempt at providing him dignity in death, then gathered the corpse and stood. Dimitri did it all unflinchingly, taking both the physical and emotional weight in stride. No, that wasn’t true. His expression was dark, drawn with pain. You wanted to say something as Professor Byleth passed you, but there were no words. Just the rain and the squelching footsteps as your group marched a twisted funeral procession away from the destroyed rubble of the chapel.

It was deafening.


	8. Dramma giocoso Opus 5 No.1 - Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to~  
>  my favorite fantasy authors as well as Shadiversity for my baby-level knowledge of medieval combat; the people who upload the game scripts on the Three Houses wiki (and the person who put "sinister snicker" for Dimitri's happy noise); my disturbing level of academic procrastination for allowing me to pump out this monster of a chapter while sitting on four unfinished vital class assignments; and you, dear reader, for enabling my fuckery
> 
> This chapter covers the in-game chapters Where the Goddess Dwells and Throne of Knowledge

**Opus 5, No 1 Dramma giocoso Act II. Aria della Morte**

The funeral happened the next day. It wasn’t elaborate. Unlike your father’s, it was a simple affair. Captain Jeralt was buried alongside his wife in the monastery cemetery. A prayer was said. Dirt was piled over the wooden box, a few words offered with each handful. Professor Byleth said nothing. Not so long ago, you had wondered if he felt anything. Now, watching tears mark streams down his ashen face, you wondered if being able to feel was truly a good thing after all.

When it was over, a hush fell over the monastery. A collective breath held for what would happen next. Faerghus burials were usually followed by drinking to the memory of the deceased. Alliance burials took time after the funeral to celebrate the dead with feasting. Imperial burials followed the Church with prayer and a solemn time of mourning.

Professor Byleth left the funeral and returned to his quarters in silence.

The rest of you stood in his wake, helpless and confused. Beasts that were students, students that were killers, and the murder of one of the most renowned and respected Knights of Seiros, it was too much to handle all at once. Everyone was rattled and although the weather had dried, you still felt the freezing touch of rain seeping through your skin, making your very bones tremble.

Dimitri, his face shadowed and eyes haunted, was the first to leave, Dedue like a shadow behind him. One by one, the rest of them left, grim expressions and lonesome figures. Professor Byleth was the one that drew you all together. Without him you were all lost. Without him… to even think of that was agonizing. But what if there was nothing to be done? What if you couldn’t do anything but watch it fall apart? What if-

Someone touched your arm, startling you.

“You look cold,” Mercedes said. Her voice was soft, her eyes kind. “Let me make you some tea to warm up.”

You blinked, clearing away the glaze that had unfocused your gaze. “Okay,” you agreed weakly, instinctively. Since getting up that morning, you could count on your fingers all of the words you’d spoken. Your voice was hoarse, dry. Clearing your throat, you tried again. “That would be nice.”

Mercedes smiled, holding out her arm for you to take. “Let’s go, then. It’s chilly out here.” The gesture surprised you, but you accepted after only a second. It was a steadying hold, one that you hadn’t realized you needed. The casual act of affection made your heart seize, the touch all at once strange and wonderful.

Passing grim-faced guards and tense students, she led you to her room, a place that was familiar to you by now. Could it really have been only two days ago that you, Ingrid, and Annette had all crowded in front of her mirror, applying makeup and styling your hair for the ball? Time had stretched since then, distorted. Too many strange things had happened.

Her room smelled the same as it had. Tea and flowers, the sweet scent that Mercedes was constantly surrounded by. Messy, but in a charming way. 

“Please, sit,” Mercedes said as she let your arm go, closing the door behind you. “I’m sorry to say that I didn’t think to bake anything, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” you responded, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. Messily made, crowded with an assortment of personalized blankets. She stooped down in front of the miniature stove she had, a strange and heavy metal piece about half the size of the chest at the foot of her bed. Apparently, they were quite popular in the School of Sorcery in Fhirdiad, but its reliance on the owner being able to use a fire spell to heat the inner mechanism made it rather useless to most people. Mercedes handily ignited the inside, pouring water from the jug into her copper kettle and setting it on the plate.

“There,” she said, straightening out and taking a seat in front of her desk.

“Thank you… For inviting me, I mean,” you said awkwardly, uncertain of what else to say. In the warmly lit room, surrounded by the sweet scent of tea and Mercedes’s perfume, your feelings were only further muddled. Her easy affection was always disarming, but now it was cutting. Alone, you could allow the endless void of silence and thought to consume your feelings, but now they felt exposed. Drawn out.

“I’m happy to! It seemed like you needed some company,” Mercedes said.

“I guess that’s true,” you said, staring down at your hands. Tears were already hot against the back of your eyes, burning even as you fought them. Why? It was like they had been waiting for something to break. “Although... I’m not sure I’m great company right now.”

“Don’t be silly, I’m always glad to have you around,” Mercedes said. After a moment, her voice softened further. You couldn’t see her expression, but you could feel the concern. “And I hope you know that I’m always willing to listen if you need to talk.”

Your breath caught, emotions unraveling at her invitation. You couldn’t say anything, you didn’t even know where to begin. Your feelings were overwhelming, endless, suffocating, drowning. All you could think of was death, of Dimitri. Knowing that you’d committed yourself to pain so willingly, that you were so useless in the face of it, that you couldn’t do anything. Hopeless. Your head fell into your hands, your body folding under the weight of it all. This wasn’t like you. You were meant to be different, to get past these emotions and keep your head up. Radiate positivity, leave the emotions to the music. You were different. You didn’t allow your feelings to engulf you, didn’t allow them to come through around others like this.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your head held down and voice choked. “I should… I should go, I think.” You needed to leave, to deal with this on your own. Deal with it, handle it, push it down-

A weight settled beside you, a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to be alone,” Mercedes said gently.

You couldn’t help it, really. Everything within you collapsed, caving in under the pressure. And you cried. You didn’t know who reached out first, but your face was buried against her shoulder, the soft fabric of her shirt pressed to your skin. Mercedes wrapped her arms around your shuttering body, rubbing gentle circles against your back.

Mercedes held you and it was like nothing you’d ever known. Yet, the touch was undeniably natural. You had always craved it, yearned for it, without even knowing what you were missing. Not love, but warmth. Something you could only vaguely recall feeling from your mother, all those years ago, before time and pain had frozen her solid, driven her mad. Never had you felt it from your father, a callous man who used people as pawns and was cold and dead before you really knew him. And not from Dimitri, your love. He was the coldest of them all in some ways. Nobody could deny that he cared, but his heart was iced over and his mind clouded by the influence of his grief. The dead clung to him with rotted fingers, the flames licking at his mind and leaving no room for the warmth of your heart.

Mercedes held you and it was almost cruel. Now you would know what you were missing, what you craved. Now that you knew what it was to be held, you would know what it was to be deprived. But you couldn’t change what you felt to suit what you needed. You couldn't make yourself stop loving a man just because it was doomed from the outset. No more than you could ask the wind to stop blowing or the moon to keep you company in the hours of the day.

Eventually, the storm of your emotion abated somewhat. It always did. Sobs became sniffles, wails becoming hiccups. 

The kettle whistled.

“I’m sorry,” you said as pulled away to let Mercedes stand up. Her shoulder was darkened with your tears. You wiped up your face with your sleeve, feeling wrung out. Sheepish, too.

“I don’t mind,” Mercedes said extinguishing the fire in the stove’s heart and pouring the steaming water into two cups. “Sometimes it’s better to get it all out. Do you feel any better?”

You thought about that for a moment, trying to untangle your thoughts, to figure out what you felt. “I’m… Not sure,” you admitted honestly. You felt worn. More than a little embarrassed. Hiccups seized your chest and you could feel how splotchy your face had become.

“Death is difficult on everybody,” she said, handing you a steaming cup and returning to the chair. You inhaled the sweet, floral steam. Watching as the water darkened with the tea leaves. “I understand the pain of loss. It never really goes away, does it?” she noted. At your surprised look, she elaborated. "Oh, haven't I told you? My mother and I fled from House Bartels in the Empire when I was young. It was very difficult, we had to leave behind someone precious. That's why I think I can understand what you feel."

You blinked itchy eyes, staring at Mercedes. There was a pain in her eyes. But, somehow, that didn't weaken their glow, or cool her warmth. “How did you get past it?" you asked hoarsely. "How did you... How did you go on?”

"It was hard. But I was able to continue forward by accepting the help of others," she said. "And by allowing the goddess into my heart. She showed me that I had a purpose. Yes, that's what gave me strength."

"A purpose?"

"Helping others, caring for them as I was cared for during that dark time. I believe that's what the goddess intended for me."

"And that helped?"

"Yes. I wouldn't be here if I hadn't discovered my purpose."

"I have a purpose," you said after chewing on the words for a moment. "I want to be a knight."

"That's all?" Mercedes asked.

You hesitated.

"No," you replied, suddenly uncertain. Yes, you wanted to be a knight, but no longer were your eyes so clouded by fairy tales that you could cling to childish fancy. The future you sought was a difficult one and you had only made it more complicated. Emotions, bonds, —Dimitri. Heroism wasn't all you had believed it to be. "I want," you began, "to protect people. To save the ones I love. I don't want to lose anyone else." The conviction in your voice surprised you, although it shouldn't have.

"I see," Mercedes said. "That's not an easy task."

"No, it's not," you agreed, your shoulders slumping slightly. "But I can't give up. If I do, it will all unravel. That's why it hurts. I can't fail, I can't let the dead rule my life. I can't."

"Then it seems you didn't need my advice at all, you know exactly what you need to do."

Your eyes shot up. "But it's not that simple! I don't know how to save anyone, I don't even know if I can. Everytime I try, I fail. And after today, it feels impossible and-and childish. I'm just me. I don't know if I'm strong enough."

"Maybe not," Mercedes said. "But it's not just you anymore. You have us!" Her smile was radiant. It made something in your chest unclench, a knot loosen. You thought of eating breakfast with Sylvain. You thought of Dedue's strong hand holding yours.

"We have to help Professor Byleth," you said. Those weren't the words you intended, but perhaps it was nice to share that burden. You wanted to mention Dimitri but didn't dare. "We can't lose him. We just can't."

Mercedes sighed, her face falling. "I know."

**Dramma giocoso Act II. Recitativo Riguardo al Pugnale**

Exhaustion had left you too tired to sleep. Professor Hanneman and Manuela had been handling Blue Lion’s classes, but nothing was right in the monastery. That awful hush was like a fog across the grounds, a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. Students were no longer given night patrol jobs, but you had been too wound up and anxious to simply stay in all night. It wasn’t the same, though. Rather than your harp, you had a sword. Rather than sit and marvel at the stars, you stuck to the shadows and prowled. In theory, at least, it was the same. You’d always been drawn to the darkness.

Such an act of rebellion should have strengthened you against the fear of being caught, but you still hid when you saw a shadow approaching in the dark. Being scolded by a Knight of Serios was the last thing you wanted. But as you watched and waited with bated breath, you realized that the torch holding figure was more familiar than not. A mountain of a man, taller than most others in the monastery. At the very least, broader.

"Dedue?" you called, stepping around the pillar you’d taken refuge behind and trying to peer past the blinding light of his torch at the large man. You probably should have anticipated it, but his hand went to his weapon the second you spoke, the other holding out the light to ward you off. Your hands went up instantly, a gesture of innocence. “Woah, it’s just me!”

He said your name like a question or an admonishment, but he did lower the light.

“What are you doing out so late?” you asked, trying to surreptitiously look around. Dimitri was nowhere to be found.

"I’m looking for His Highness. Have you seen him?" Dedue asked, his normally stoic voice colored slightly with worry.

"No, I haven't," you replied. You hadn't seen Dimitri nearly at all since Jeralt's funeral. He attended classes, but even that felt like a perfunctory measure. Mostly he had shut himself up in the training grounds or Knights Hall. Occasionally the library. Sometimes he was nowhere to be found at all, skipping meals and coming back late. He was fairly unapproachable at the best of times, but you got the distinct feeling that even when he did agree to train with you or exchange a few casual words, he wasn’t really there, let alone answer any questions about where he went to. 

Dedue, his face lit up in the warmth of the torch and cast sharp with shadows, frowned. Or, rather, his frown became more severe. "I see." He turned, ready to walk away. You jumped to catch up to the large man, your legs working hard to match his pace.

"I can help you look, if you want," you offered. He looked down at you, his face unreadable.

"You should return to your room,” he said. “It's not safe to be wandering around at this time of night."

"No, it's not," you agreed. "Where have you checked so far?"

Dedue hesitated, but didn’t push the issue. "The training grounds, dining hall, pavilion, and the lake. I thought I would try the library next."

You chewed on that for a moment. "I know it’s late,” you finally said, “but you don’t think he’d have left the monastery, do you?"

“I am... not sure,” Dedue said. Although the answer was simple, his tone said everything. He sounded tired. Stressed. You hummed, nodding.

“I’ll check the entry hall. If he has left, someone will have seen him,” you said. Mentally, you added a probably.

Dedue didn't agree but he did walk slower, allowing you to match his step as the both of you approached the stairs that would take him to the second floor and you in the direction of the front end of the monastery. It was silent, just the occasional squelch of boots in half dried mud.

“You know, you’re really not so scary as people think you are,” you said, peering up at Dedue. Partially to quell the unease of anxiety, but also because the words were a long time coming. You hadn't forgotten the feeling of him holding your hand on that stormy afternoon, steadying you when you felt ready to fall apart.

“Is that so?” Dedue asked.

“Yeah.” You exhaled heavily. “I'm sorry I haven't said it before now. You're a good man. Dimitri is lucky to have you on his side."

“I’m the one who is lucky," Dedue said softly. "His Highness saved me. Without him, I would be dead. It is only right that I should use my life to protect his." He hesitated, peeking down at you again. "You… care for His Highness."

It was not a question, but it felt like one anyway. "I do," you answered carefully. "Why? Has he said anything?"

"No," Dedue answered curtly. Then, with a softer tone, "It is not my place to say.”

“Is that a yes?” you asked, partially to try and be playful but mostly because you hoped. You really hoped.

“As I said-”

“Not your place,” you cut in, nodding with a forced smile to play it off as a joke.

“I must warn you,” Dedue said, his voice almost reluctant, “that if you betray him in any way, I will not hesitate to step in on his behalf because of our friendship."

"You know, Sylvain said something to that effect," you said, unable to stifle a melancholy smile.

"Sylvain is a good man."

That surprised you, but in a good way. It was nice to hear someone else acknowledge it. Then you sighed. "You all are." Good men, not the knights and heroes you’d dreamed of, but good men. "You don't need to worry about me, Dedue. People swear ideals when they commit to becoming a knight, right? Well, I’ve decided that my oath is to defend my loved ones at all costs. Or… I mean, my friends. That's my purpose."

“In that case, I believe you’ll be a fine knight.”

There was little you felt you could say in response to that, allowing the silence to spin between the two of you as you rounded the pavilion with a door opening to a hall with staircase access to the second floor. So far, you hadn’t seen any knights. You wondered if that was a good or a bad sign. Dedue stopped in the shadow of the building, his torch scaring away the shadows, sending them far and wide across the surrounding grassy lawn.

“When I said that I’ll defend my friends at all costs, that includes you,” you said before Dedue could speak. “I hope you know that.”

He blinked at you, his bright green eyes made all the more striking by the flames. Then he cleared his throat, nodded. “I thank you for that.”

There was more to say, you thought, but Dedue was notoriously terse. It was probably better to leave it there, anyway, so you just smiled and nodded in turn. “Well then, I’m off,” you said.

"If you see him-"

"You will be the first to know," you said. “On my honor.”

Dedue nodded. "Stay vigilant."

"You too."

He slipped in through the door, leaving you to venture back out into the night, blinking the torchlight from your eyes to clear them. Overall, you decided that the interaction could have gone worse. Less happy did you feel about scurrying around in search of Dimitri again. Always searching, wandering, hoping that you’d happen upon him. Tonight you had an excuse, but at the same time, you wondered if you really did. Why else would you wander alone at night if not in the hopes that he’d be equally sleepless? In a strange way, you knew that was something you clung to. Something the two of you shared.

Pulling your cloak closer to your body for warmth, you picked up the pace, your boots squelching in the half slush mud at the edges of the yard. With light pooling around the wall-set sconces and a lack of cover, you knew that if you got caught here, there’d be no hiding. You had said you’d ask whoever was keeping watching at the front entranceway, but thinking about actually doing that wasn’t entirely appealing. The curfew was made clear to everyone in the monastery, you were certain you’d face repercussions for breaking it unless you could think of a really good excuse. Dimitri was lucky, they’d never punish the crown prince.

Still, you said you would. Taking a deep breath, you pushed the side door to the entrance hall slightly open, straining your ears to figure out if anyone you didn’t want to happen upon was inside before going through. The landing at the top of the steps that you could see was empty, but voices carried through the large hall from the far end where the door leading outside opened. You stuck your head in a bit further, almost holding your breath to make out the words being exchanged.

“-training,” a lower male voice said, carried through the yawning acoustics of the grand hall. A voice you were fairly certain you recognized.

“Training? At this time of night?” someone asked incredulously, their voice much more brash. You figured it had to be a knight, whoever was guarding the doors. “Huh, well, whatever you say, professor.”

Professor? Your eyebrows furrowed before it hit you.

“Thank you,” Professor Byleth said, his voice far more clear. 

Someone, presumably Professor Byleth, began to make their way up the steps towards the landing. You nervously pulled back, casting a furtive glance behind yourself to the empty lawn before peeking in through the crack in the door. You felt a sense of disbelief that it really was Professor Byleth, but you felt as if you had to know, your prior mission forgotten. Why would he be out of the monastery so late? After all that had happened, that thought frightened you. Jeralt’s death was a solemn and terrible reminder that anyone could be taken away from you, no matter how strong or capable they were.

Your disbelief and anxiety turned to shock when the first head to crest the lip of the top step was blond, followed quickly by Professor Byleth’s darker hair. The light was poor, but they both seemed to be fine. Dimitri and Professor Byleth. You pulled even further back as they came to the landing, your breath held and muscles tense as you held the door open just a sliver, just enough to see them with one eye, your ears straining to hear.

“Professor,” Dimitri said, his voice quiet. The two had paused between the doors on the landing, only a dozen or so feet away from you. “I don’t believe we should tell the others about what we saw tonight. Of course, it’s up to you, but I believe that it would just frighten them further to know that the Flame Emperor is still lurking so close by.”

Your heart jolted at hearing the name of the person, the villain, responsible for all of this mess. You put a gloved hand against your mouth to muffle your instinctual reactionary gasp, cursing the fact that you’d have such a reaction.

“You might be right about that,” Professor Byleth answered. You couldn’t see his expression, but you felt as if you could hear the frown in his normally stoic voice.

“Yes,” Dimitri said, a little more urgently, feverishly. “Not until we can… Next time, I’ll be prepared. I swear it. For my family and for Jeralt, they will pay. We _will_ get revenge. ”

“You look tired, Dimitri,” Professor Byleth said. “You should get some rest.”

“I-” Dimitri began, his voice strained before he stopped himself and cleared his throat. It was difficult to see clearly, but you saw his head shake, a gauntleted hand raise to his face. “Understood, Professor.”

“Goodnight Dimitri,” Professor Byleth said.

“Yes. Goodnight,” Dimitri responded, his voice somewhat clipped. The pair split apart, Professor Byleth heading towards the door opposite yours while Dimitri turned directly towards you. Panic flaring in your chest, you let the door close as gently as you could and turned, trying to find a place to hide.

Ultimately, your brilliant plan was just pressing yourself against the wall outside the pool of light in the hopes that the dark would help to keep you from being seen. The heavy door opened, admitting him through. Although you were holding your breath and keeping as still as possible, you were still pretty shocked that Dimitri just stalked right past you without even a single glance around. He looked preoccupied, distracted, with an ashen face, lips drawn into a line, and his posture woodenly stiff. 

You questioned for a moment if you even wanted to approach him for fear of implicating yourself in spying on his private conversation, but ultimately decided that you should. You told yourself it was for Dedue’s sake. You hoped it was for Dedue’s sake.

“Dimitri!” you said, pulling away from the wall and speaking in a whisper-shout, hoping it would seem like you’d come from the opposite direction. He whipped around, hand going to the sword on his hip. For the second time that night, you raised your hands in a sign of innocence, stumbling a few steps backward. Although recognition hit him only seconds later, you couldn’t shake the awful feeling that he really would have attacked you.

“What is it?” Dimitri asked in a hard voice.

It did look a little like he’d been training, what with the red tinge on his nose and cheeks and the curled tension of his posture, the messiness of his choppy hair. Awkwardly, he held something hidden at his side, half covered by his cloak. A weapon, you could tell by the way he was holding it away from his body. Not the arming sword that was sheathed on his belt, but something else, shorter, without a sheath.

A dagger?

That could have made sense if they had been training, but the way he was holding it was odd, like he was trying to conceal it. When your eyes lingered too long, he retracted it further into the confines of his winter cloak.

“We were looking for you. Dedue and I, that is,” you quickly explained, your hands still half raised, one of your thumbs pointing vaguely towards the library entrance where Dedue had gone. “He said that you disappeared and I offered to help find you. Its not safe to be alone right now." Not that he had been alone. You hesitated, but it was impossible to deny your curiosity. “Uh… Where were you?”

“Out,” Dimitri answered. Not in a rude way, exactly, but very stiff. Uncomfortably off-putting so as to make it clear that any further questioning wasn’t welcome. It hurt that he would revert back to treating you like that. Evasive. Weren’t you beyond that? As stupid as the feeling was, the pain of it made your chest clench.

“Having some cloak-and-dagger fun? How mysterious,” you said with a weak attempt at playfulness, your own evasive tactics. Dimitri’s eyes widened, and he tucked the dagger even further behind his back, shifting his stance more defensively.

“No,” Dimitri responded, nearly aggressive in his denial. Wincing at the abruptness of his reaction, he cleared his throat. “No, the Professor and I were… Training. That’s all. In any case, it’s quite late, we should both return to our quarters.”

You eyed him nervously, unsure of what to make of his behavior and the lie. He’d mentioned the Flame Emperor and asked Professor Byleth to keep it secret, of course he wouldn’t tell you now. Not that Dimitri was particularly good at hiding things. Still, you doubted you’d manage to get the truth out of him, either. While you told yourself you weren’t entitled to the truth, knowing he’d lie was agonizing. 

“Dimitri, are you all right?” you asked carefully, a sickening cocktail of emotions rolling uncertainly in your stomach. Then, softer, “Was it about what happened to Captain Jeralt?”

“It was between me and Professor Byleth,” he said defensively.

Your eyes fell once more to the dagger he was hiding behind his back. Why would he be carrying a dagger in the middle of the night in the first place? What did it have to do with the Flame Emperor? Why would he lie?

“Did you find out something about his killer?” you pushed, your voice softer with trepidation, trying to make the questions sound like natural curiosity. You shouldn’t have been pushing like this, it was tantamount to admitting that you’d been spying, but the compulsion was too strong to deny. “Or… the Flame Emperor?”

“No,” Dimitri responded harshly, his tone biting the tail of your question in a nearly guttural reaction. Then his voice softened, weakened. He looked tired. Exhausted, really. “It-It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” He seemed like he was about to add something more, but the words were stifled as his eyes fixed over your shoulder.

You whipped around, but it was only Dedue.

"Your Highness," Dedue said sternly, a hundred harsh admonishments in his voice. Relief, too. "I was looking for you. Its not safe for-"

"Yes, I know," Dimitri cut in, exasperated. Rude, even. "I wasn't alone, the professor and I… well, it's late enough as it is. We should return."

"I agree," Dedue said. He looked at you, nodding. "Thank you for your help."

"Of course," you said, uncertain and awkward. They bid you goodnight, an odd repeat of a familiar scene, but one that was now twisted and strange. They left, and you were alone. Always, it seemed like that was one of life’s many eventualities.

Suddenly feeling quite a bit more paranoid about the shadows and all of your many insecurities and fears fresh on your mind, you returned to your room.

**Dramma giocoso Act II. Recitativo le Apologia**

“May I sit?” Dimitri asked, gesturing to the seat across from you. His voice pulled you from your book, the usual companion to your late eating habits. At this hour, the dining hall wasn’t too busy, set at a low buzz of sound with the thinning crowd. As usual, you had become distracted by one thing or another and found yourself eating the cold remains of dinner far later than everyone else. He held a plate and wore an earnest expression, a far cry from the stiff and closed off man you had met last night.

“Of course,” you said. The nerves at seeing him were expected, but the relief far overshadowed that, the joy at seeing him. Butterflies, even.

Dimitri sat gratefully, setting down his things. As usual, his meal choice favored foods that were hearty rather than particularly good, resulting in a rather eclectic serving. As far as you could tell, Dimitri’s only favorites were dishes that he called nostalgic, with him being otherwise indifferent to any of your attempts to figure out what he liked. Dedue had spent much of the year trying to solve the puzzle.

“I wanted to apologize for last night,” Dimitri said, drawing your attention back up with a voice holding the repressed air of awkwardness that so often tainted your interactions. You felt your share of awkwardness yourself, uncertain of how to behave after what had happened. “It was rude of me to be so short with you.”

“I’m not… Upset, really,” you got out awkwardly. “And besides, I should probably be sorry too, right? I was prying into things that are none of my business.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” Dimitri said earnestly. Then he paused, considering something with his eyebrows drawn inwards. “Truthfully, there’s a great deal that I myself do not understand, and there’s little point in hypothesizing when we know so little.”

“Maybe I could help...?” you asked. Dimitri looked at you uncertainly, obviously unsure of what to say. Trying to offset the pushy question, you quickly added, “You know that I’d never betray your confidence. What’s the phrase? Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a thousand needles in my eye? I wouldn’t want needles in my eyes.” You gave him a half-smile, hoping that it would lighten the mood.

Dimitri’s gaze didn’t falter from your own as he considered that. “No, I don’t suppose you would,” he said. You couldn’t tell if he was playing along or dead serious with that solemn tone. “You were right when you asked if it had to do with Jeralt’s killer,” Dimitri said carefully. “But I’m afraid I can’t say much more than that. All I know for certain is that the Flame Emperor and those who stand with him are irredeemable.” His voice darkened, his expression falling into an angry scowl. “They’re the ones who killed Captain Jeralt. The ones behind the Tragedy of Duscur and countless other unforgivable crimes. In order to give the dead any semblance of peace, we _must_ rid this world of the evil that took them.” Dimitri let that statement rest there, his intense expression slowly melting away into something far more introverted, his voice becoming tinged with regret. “No matter who they might reveal themselves to be, we _must_ follow through.”

The proclamation wasn’t unfamiliar to you, thoughts you had heard before. Most confusing was the last statement. “You’re talking about Tomas and Monica?” you asked uncertainly, although that didn’t feel entirely right. There was something more to his expression, that look of regret, of sorrow. An idea occurred to you, one that sent chills over your skin. “Dimitri…” you began, speaking softly. “You don’t suppose there are more traitors among us, do you? People we know who are… One of them.”

His eyes snapped up.

“No, we cannot assume that to be true,” he said with unwavering confidence, overstated self assurance. “Tomas and Monica both had suspect backgrounds from the beginning. Since the incident, the Church has been carefully studying the backgrounds of everybody in Garreg Mach. If there are any who show similar signs, they will be dealt with soon.”

“So what did you mean?” you asked doubtfully. He met your eyes, and you could see the hesitation. The doubt. Dimitri was afraid, angry, but mostly he was hurting.

“Nothing,” he said, looking down. “I apologize. Again.” He sighed. “I find myself snapping at people more and more these days. Dedue continuously urges me to sleep, not understanding that I can’t. And my head _aches_ … I know I will not be able to find even a moment of peace until the knights return with a lead on Captain Jeralt’s killers.”

“Do you think that will help?” you asked, uncomfortable with the connection between his health and the murderers. “Killing them, I mean.”

Dimitri frowned. “Of course it will. It is what we owe to Professor Byleth. To see his father avenged. Otherwise, neither will find peace.”

Peace through violence. Was that not your duty in being a knight? Not for the first time, the idea was mismatched. A poor fit. How could you claim to be saving lives if all you were doing was taking them? Once you had told Dimitri that you could stand the thought because you knew you were fighting people who felt the same as you, but right then, looking at Dimitri, you doubted that idea. Why should anyone feel the need to kill at all? What justice was that? What good would that truly do for him?

Hating that line of thought, you shook your head and focused on the man sitting opposite of you. All you could do was trust his word and believe that things would work out. He looked haunted, far more intensely than you felt. “All of this brings back memories, doesn’t it?” you asked. “The death and… And everything.”

He sighed, picking at his food with a halfhearted dispassion.

“I suppose it does,” Dimitri admitted. “Although I know I cannot fully understand the extent of Professor Byleth’s pain, I do know what it is to lose a loved one. I feel his pain as surely as if it were my own.” He shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh before looking back up at you. “But you lost your father too, correct? This must be just as hard on you.”

You pursed your lips as you tried to find an answer to that question, feeling the weight of it settle on your shoulders. It was only natural to think that, considering the tears you had shed at the funeral. Eventually, you looked away with a noncommittal shrug.

“Not especially. At least, not like it is for you and Professor Byleth. My father was… Well, I didn’t really know him. My mother, the others my father left behind, they’re the reason his death was… Is hard for me. And now what hurts is seeing you and Professor Byleth and being unable to help you find peace ”

“The only way the living will find peace is by seeing to the desires of the dead,” Dimitri muttered.

“Huh?”

“It’s… It’s nothing. I’m certain Professor Byleth will get past this, all we can do is follow him and offer our strength and support.”

_And you?_ You wished to ask. But you didn’t.

Instead, you changed the subject to more pleasant things and didn’t think at all about daggers or death or killing or the darkness that lurked so close beneath the surface in the eyes of the man you loved.

**Dramma giocoso Act II. Aria di Dubbio**

Rallied and armed, Professor Byleth led the Blue Lions to the Sealed Forest with his jaw set and posture rigid. It was late afternoon, an unfavorable time for fighting. Anxiety rumbled among the students and soldiers alike, fears that this could be a trap of some kind. Questioning if it wasn’t better to wait for the elite Knights of Seiros after all. You had armor and your sword, but Siobhan with her magnificent wingspan and battle tested grace had been left behind. There were too many places for archers to hide among the trees and target her. Although you were just as trained in grounded combat, you missed her comforting presence.

Not that you were about to complain. Anyone could see that Professor Byleth wouldn’t be dissuaded from this plan of action. Captain Jeralt’s killers had been found, he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to get revenge. That was what you all wanted for him, wasn’t it?

Especially Dimitri.

When he had realized that the Church of Seiros had been attempting to hide the discovery of the enemy from Byleth, his face had been thunderous with anger. The poor guard who accidentally let it slip had worn a look of mortal terror as Dimitri demanded information. Just like that, too. One moment he’d been on the verge of smiling as Mercedes attempted a new sword technique he’d shown her and the next he seemed poised to fight as he ordered the guard to repeat the report about the men who had killed Captain Jeralt setting up in the Sealed Forest. Dimitri seemed more composed now, close at Professor Byleth’s side, but you couldn’t help but watch and wonder if that would last.

Despite any misgivings, everyone lined up at the wall of trees ready to fight. Professor Byleth’s eyes scanned the troops with focused lucidity as he laid out the simple strategy.

“It’s safe to assume that the enemy has claimed the clearing opposite this section of trees. From what the scouts have been able to gather, they intend to send footsoldiers to confront us on our way,” Professor Byleth said. “We will fan out, force the enemy back, and charge them head on.” He paused, lowering his voice as he met everyone’s eyes in turn. “This isn’t noble warfare. We are likely outnumbered and at a disadvantage. Considering the conditions, we’ll fight this battle like mercenaries. Each infantry unit will move as an independent group. Archers and mages will split up among these groups. Any questions?”

A general air of trepidation spread among your group, but there were no shuffling feet or whispered concerns.

“Leave it to us, Professor,” Ashe suddenly said, his voice sharply contrasting the somber mood with his optimistic promise.

“Yes,” Mercedes readily agreed. “But,” she continued a moment later, her voice softening, “I don’t really love the idea of fighting people I know...”

“Fighting Tomas…” Sylvain said uncertainly, frowning. “It will be difficult, that’s for certain.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Annette cut in, her voice firm. “Even if it’s difficult, an enemy is an enemy.”

“Just kill them from behind,” Felix suggested, exasperated. You couldn’t tell if he was simply fed up or if he meant it, but the words were somewhat chilling all the same. “As long as you don’t see their faces, you won’t know if you know them.”

“We won’t know unless we see their face…” Dimitri said, his eyes widening slightly. Then he nodded, his eyebrows furrowing. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

Your eyes narrowed at the man, your stomach flipping. Something about the way Dimitri was focusing again on the point of killing those he knew, those who were familiar, was off. His emotions were a mystery to you at the best of times, but certainly he couldn’t be that upset about the librarian and a stranger student. But he didn’t elaborate, shaking his head.

“Professor, I hope you know I meant what I told you before,” Dimitri said, turning to Professor Byleth with a resolute expression. “Your enemy is my enemy. And I will follow you until the end, whatever that may be.” 

“But not here,” you said, forcing a lilt of playfulness into your voice as you took a step closer to them. “You have to stick it out at least until you see your precious Lions graduated.”

“No, not here,” Professor Byleth agreed. He didn’t smile at you, but you could swear there was some warmth in his customary nod. “We won’t lose.”

“Yes, right,” Dimitri said. “We’ll fulfill our duty together. We’ve come this far. We can’t stop now. Professor… Byleth, I hope you know you can rely on us. No matter who the enemy is, we are prepared to cut them down.”

Professor Byleth considered Dimitri for a moment before nodding at him, something intimate and absolute passing between the pair.

And that was that. Dimitri fell into line with his personal squad of spearmen. He would be taking the frontal assault with Professor Byleth, of course. Anticipation rippled through the air —as if everyone could feel what was about to happen. It was all familiar by now. A speech of some kind from your brave commander, then battle.

“They will be waiting for us,” Professor Byleth called, speaking loud enough so that he could be heard. The army he had been able to gather wasn’t numerous enough that the message needed to be threaded through the ranks by runners, the words undulating through the soldiers as whispering voices passed on his words. “They think that they’re going to win.” Professor Byleth’s jaw tensed, his posture becoming more certain as he addressed his students, his soldiers. There was a fire in his eyes that you weren’t sure you’d ever seen. “They’re wrong. For my father and for everyone else who has fallen to them, we will get vengeance!”

As far as grand speeches, that was about what you’d expect out of your dear, terse Professor. Perhaps more. People would remember what he said, it would be marked down for later reference. But translation would lose that spark in his gaze. There weren’t words to convey the steadfast strength that emanated from him, the way everybody stood a little taller when he was around.

Still, there was only so much inspiration could do to calm you down as you followed more specific orders and got into position with your squad of soldiers arranged around you. Despite all that had been said, it was clear that there was more to the assault than a simple battle in the forest. They’d already taken Jeralt. Professor Byleth was strong, but could he really fight off this force? Not by himself, certainly. Was this really the best strategy? It left so many weak points, maybe the enemy had anticipated how Professor Byleth would think in this situation. Maybe-

“Are you humming?” your second in command asked. He was a tall, lanky man named Avery. On foot, he seemed quite awkward, but on a wyvern, he was a flurry of wings and violence. Judging by skill and battle experience, he had every right to be leading you and his squad of men, but yet he still followed your orders. Sure, he was quite rough around the edges and there were more holes in the story of his past than there were in a Brigid flute, but, by your estimation, he was a good man.

“It’s a nervous habit,” you said, self-consciously stopping. The shaking couldn’t be avoided but you’d been told that battle nerves were best endured rather than suppressed.

Avery laughed. “That wasn’t a critique. Just surprised, is all. I know that song... Something about Nemesis, isn’t it?”

Your head tilted as you thought about that. Had it been?

There was no time to ponder on that. Ahead, a horn cried out into the misty afternoon.

Charge.

Fighting in the Sealed Forest didn’t scare you. At least in theory. Even if it looked spooky and gave you a deep sense of unease, you were brave. What you hadn’t known about the Sealed Forest, or fighting in any forest at all, was the way that the trees ate noise. Footsteps dampened by foliage, voices muffled by half-dead vegetation. As soon as you and your squad of swordsmen were lost in your section of the Sealed Forest, it was as if nobody else in the world existed.

Until an arrow narrowly missed sticking in your head, the tip of it tearing through the skin of your cheek.

And so the battle began.

As Professor Byleth had said, this was mercenary combat. No lines of men or grand tactical actions, just small bursts of combat clashing in the limited space. Brutal and dirty and crude. The enemy brought out one of those vile beasts to rampage through the half-dead foliage and damp greenery. The soldiers themselves seemed to be magicked into action, pockets of small infantry units appearing in the dappled streams of light filtering in from the trees above.

Among all of the other handicaps placed upon you by the circumstances, you were fighting while distracted, looking everywhere for the moment when the secret would be revealed, for the enemy’s true intentions to be made known. There were a million things wrong with this battle, with the situation, and you had the awful sinking sensation that the beasts were the least of your worries.

It was bad form, you knew it was, and you caught an ugly gash on your left forearm for it.

Luckily, the enemy seemed to have little more idea of how to fight in this terrain than you. More importantly, Avery was clever. He’d obviously fought battles like this before, perhaps an aspect of his highly suspect past. You had the strength and sword prowess to cut people down, but he knew how to make the mysteries of the forest work to his advantage, leading them to treacherous footing or swinging around the confusing array of trees with ease before swiping them from behind.

The whole thing was an ugly and harsh fight, not quite like any battle you’d taken part in before. By the time you’d worked through what felt like hundreds of men, sweat had pooled most uncomfortably beneath your gambeson, dampening your hairline and brow before drying in the chill of the Sealed Forest. Worse, it slipped into the wound on your cheek, stinging painfully as it mixed with blood and dried in streaks. Your breath heaved and limbs ached, but the foul beast laid dead. As did the soldiers who had brought it. 

Noise and light from ahead told you that you were close to the clearing Professor Byleth had spoken of, and that some of your allies had already reached it.

Aside from the painful wound on your cheek and forearm, a poorly executed parry had pushed your sword arm into an awkward angle that made your shoulder ache agonizingly. You rolled it and decided that it probably wasn’t that severe. There was nothing to be done for it. You did splash some water on the gash swiped through your sleeve and skin before wrapping your forearm.

With unforgivably unladylike polish, you spit the thick metallic phlegm from the back of your throat and downed the remaining water. It was a stale and bitter flavor, but you took a few mouthfuls regardless to soothe the sandpaper of your tongue. Knowing you couldn’t dawdle here, you took stock of your men.

“Lester and Wendell, you fall back,” you said, addressing the two injured. You didn’t like the look of Lester’s leg, stained in blood as it was. Wendell was holding his arm at the wrong angle, an arrow protruding from the shoulder. Wincing, you looked away. Men who had gotten hurt under your command. You really hated that.

Another part of yourself tried to be reasonable. At least it was only two. At least nobody had died under your command.

Before they could respond, a scream tore through the forest. From further off, birds took to flight into the darkening afternoon sky. You didn’t know that scream in particular, but you knew the type. It was the kind that only came from someone in acute agony.

“Avery,” you called, forgetting your pain as your thoughts derailed.

“We’re with you,” he said. He turned to the injured, but you were already moving, missing his commands to the injured.

Anxiety clawed its way up to your stomach and throat as you continued towards the sounds of conflict until it pushed you into running, not checking to see if your men were keeping pace. Compared to the chaotic battlefield you’d found between the trees before, it was unnerving that this section would be so clear.

Finally, you broke out from the claustrophobic cover of the forest.

Professor Byleth and Solon were standing in the ruins. Solon’s hand was buried in the prone Kryona’s chest as she hung limply, reaching towards Professor Byleth. That image was fleeting, gone in a blink as an unknown spell bloomed with a flash of dark fire, burning out with a void of consumption in a dramatic flare. The screams that had led you forward, which you believed were Kronya’s screams, seemed to remain hanging in the clearing. The outward pressure of displaced air returning as the spell cleared up made your ears pop. Among the ruins, all became still.

Professor Byleth was nowhere to be seen.

Felix, Sylvain, Ingrid, Dedue, and Dimitri stood ahead of you, a scattering of their personal battalions standing interspersed with the enemy bodies on the ground. Solon stood alone in the ruins, wiping blood from his hand as casual as could be, unconcerned with the combatants facing him down.

It smelled like black magic and greasy fire smoke, a tingling, metallic, foul smell that made your nose scrunch with disgust.

“What was that sorcery?” Dimitri demanded. “What happened to our professor?!”

Solon looked up as the prince approached him, but didn’t seem any more concerned than before. “He was swallowed by the mystical darkness of the forbidden spell,” he answered, smiling as he tucked away the bloody handkerchief. “An eternity wandering in a void of darkness, never to return to this world… To think we almost had the Sword of the Creator…”

“That's a lie!” Annette shouted. You hadn’t even noticed her and Mercedes breaking the treeline behind you. She marched right towards Solon with stiff posture and wind magic whirling a miniature vortex around her. “There's no way the professor is really dead!”

You stumbled forward to stop her from getting too close to Solon, but Felix wordlessly put his arm out to bar her from going further. Annette’s fists were shaking, clenched at her side. She seemed like she was going to fight against him for a moment, but she didn’t.

“It is possible that death has yet to find your friend,” Solon said, smiling and relaxed as he turned his unnerving gaze to Annette. Gleeful. “But there are worse things than death. Drifting through the darkness with no chance to escape…Overwhelmed with hopelessness… It must be torturous.”

His words were a punch to the stomach, taking away all your breath. You had seen it with your own eyes, but hearing it stated so sadistically was different. Professor Byleth. Gone. You felt weak, staring at the ruins where he should have been as if you expected him to reappear.

“We cannot abandon hope, Your Highness,” Dedue said softly, putting a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder. You couldn’t see Dimitri’s face, but his back was straight and the line of his shoulders was coiled with tension. “Our professor lives. I know it.”

“You're right. We will save the professor,” Dimitri said, knocking off Dedue’s hand and readying his lance at his side. He half turned towards the rest of you, his face a blaze of concentrated anger. “But first, let's destroy this fiend!" Dimitri practically shouted, like it was an order, his voice strained and low and harsh, blazing away the silence with his fury. Falling into a battle stance, Dimitri addressed Solon directly, "I'll slice you into a thousand pieces as you watch with horror... You will know true pain before I finally allow you to die!”

You felt a new horror within your chest. It was cold, burning ice. Dimitri’s voice was ragged, filled with a rage you could barely recognize as belonging to him. But you could, couldn't you? You had heard him like that before. It made your stomach twist, your heart sink low. Something had come over Dimitri, darkened his eyes and made his hands shake. Like before, in Remire. Madness. That was the only word you could think of to describe the shift, the insanity of possession.

Taking a few steps forward, you looked to your friends to steady yourself. Annette’s face was white and bloodless. Felix’s expression was stony. Sylvain looked almost disgusted, shocked as he stared at Dimitri. Ingrid was composed, Mercedes frowned, and Ashe looked frightened.

And Professor Byleth was gone.

“How trite,” Solon said, unafraid of Dimitri’s threat. “But if you wish for pain, I shall oblige. If you prefer it so, you shall also be added to the ranks of the dead!”

Dimitri snarled, lunging forward. But his speed wasn’t enough, Solon hurled a spell at him like a shield, forcing Dimitri to dodge backward. With an uncharacteristic amount of grace, Dimitri turned the dodge into another attack. It was met with a glassy purple spray of magic. Although he parried every one of Dimitri’s strikes with a spell, Solon was being forced back by the spiral of violence and silver spear attacks that Dimitri leveled at him. It was like a dance, almost, both of them anticipating the next strike before lance met flesh or magic pierced skin. It was mesmerizing.

It was also, you realized a second too late, a distraction.

“Your Highness!” Dedue called in warning, but it didn’t matter. The reinforcements Solon had been buying time for broke out of the opposite side of the clearing, facing your group on either side as they positioned above, ready to come down the sloping hill.

Solon, having allowed himself to become boxed in against the stone wall behind the ruins, hurled a volley of conjured black spikes at Dimitri. The prince dodged away, but none of them even struck close. Getting him back was the clear purpose of the attack, as Solon used the chance to Warp away.

“Archers,” Dedue shouted, rushing forward to grab the off-balance Dimitri and cover them both with his shield while the first volley was loosed at them.

“Fall back!” Sylvain shouted, spurring your side’s forces into action. Most of you were close enough to the edge of the forest to make your way into the trees before any arrows could strike true. You didn’t dare look around the tree you’d hidden behind to check who hadn’t. As soon as the enemies broke to prepare for another volley, Ashe called for his squad of archers to line up along the treeline. His voice trembled as he made the count before release.

You peered around the tree you’d taken refuge behind. The ruins were in chaos, the enemy infantry units encroaching on both sides. Enemies that were fresh and had high morale. Arrows flew from either side, but the ones with the high ground had an advantage the moment your soldiers were forced out from behind cover to fight. Besides all of that, it would be an uphill battle to get to Solon.

“We have to retreat,” you said. Quietly at first, then with more urgency, looking around at your friends and allies with wide eyes. Ashe counted down another volley of arrows. Dedue and Dimitri finally crashed back into the relative safety of the forest. Unharmed, thankfully.

“We must kill him,” Dimitri commanded immediately. Foliage crumpled beneath his stalking stride, his lance held at the ready and expression focused intently. Except for his eyes. They were wild. “We’ll split up and take them head on from either side. Ashe, down as many of the enemy archers as you can, we’ll charge on my mark.”

“I think we should retreat for now,” you told him, forcing yourself to remain solid and self assured. “Look at us.” You gestured to your friends, scanning each tired, frightened face. Determination was in several of their clenched jaws and resolute postures, but so were nerves and doubt. And fear. “Without Professor Byleth-”

“It is for the sake of Professor Byleth that we _must_ fight and win,” Dimitri said, cutting you off. His voice hard and forceful, the frightening intensity behind his gaze leaving no room for arguments.

You met his eyes. His wild, erratic eyes. “Yes, Your Highness,” you said.

“I hope you have a plan, boar,” Felix said, looking out at the clearing. The enemy was waiting. They stayed behind their shields surrounding the edge of the ruins, hoping to draw you out so their archers could pick off as many as possible before engaging directly. There was no point in rushing anything, they knew that Dimitri would order the troops to engage.

Dimitri considered the battlefield before finally speaking, some semblance of sanity returning to his voice. “Armored units first, then… Annette, could you and your mages sweep those archers off of the ledge?”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling despite the weary tone of her voice. “That would be super easy... Assuming we can get there without becoming pincushions.”

Dimitri nodded, unaffected by the morbid joke. “Dedue, you and your armored soldiers will safely escort the mages to that wall. I believe that will be enough of a distraction for the rest of us to-”

“Your Highness,” Ingrid interrupted, “What is _that_?”

Your gaze followed to where she was pointing. There was a rift in the thin air, a blade’s edge piercing through the thread of radiant crimson. Then a guttural cry as a sword forced its way through the nothingness, reality parting like fabric around Professor Byleth’s blade. He landed in the ruins on steady feet, the Sword of the Creator glowing like an ember and his clothes fluttering from the fall. He faced the stone ledge, facing Solon who had pushed past his archers to watch the spectacle.

Was that a look of terror? You hoped it was, you hoped he was shaking with fear. 

Byleth turned away from Solon, looking over his shoulder at all of you. His clothes and hair had settled, that intense glow becoming a little less bright. But those moments spent in the void had changed him. Like something out of a story, Professor Byleth’s touch with death had given him hair and eyes of a striking luminous light green.

He raised the Sword of the Creator.

It was no grand speech, but it was a command like any other. To battle.

**Dramma giocoso Act II. Aria di Dubbio (Reprise)**

That night, you stared up at your ceiling. Wondering. Thinking. Twisting, turning, tumultuous thoughts writhed endlessly in your head. Everything was varying shades of uncomfortable, from your severely bruised shoulder to the strained muscles from navigating the terrain of the forest.

But you had won. Despite all odds, despite nearly losing Professor Byleth, despite the horrible ordeal of the extended battle.

You had won.

Vengeance was had. An eye for an eye, Professor Byleth had killed the ones who killed Jeralt. Good, good. That was only right, for the best, the most positive outcome. Like a story, all tied up in a neat little bow. Perfect, really. His father’s killers were taken care of, he’d accepted the goddess’s blessings and power. He was changed, but that wasn’t a bad thing. Change was good. Strength was good. Everything was going to turn out fine after all. Right?

Right?

You kept coming back to the question, it was the only destination for each train of thought. Would everything turn out fine? You felt like there was more to the puzzle, so much that you didn’t understand. Solon had been a villain, that was without question, but what of the Flame Emperor? Why did Lady Rhea react as she had to seeing Professor Byleth’s transformation? There were too many pieces missing to create a whole picture, a gaping hole in the fabric of it all. It was because of those missing pieces, that hole, that the horribly icy sensation in your gut told you there was more to come.

Your thoughts came full circle, uncertainty and doubt clouding everything into a hazy mess. Maybe this was paranoia. After all, vengeance was had. Just as Dimitri wanted, just as Professor Byleth deserved.

So why did you feel like nothing was solved? Why did you feel the awful sensation of falling, of failing? Why couldn’t you get over what Dimitri had said? How he had acted?

Nobody spoke of his outburst. Nobody acknowledged the madness you’d all seen in his eyes. Even Felix, who took any opportunity to point out Dimitri’s behaviors, hadn’t said anything on the march back. When Professor Byleth returned, so did his normal persona. And that was enough. 

One step forward.

One step, and then-

And then.

You hadn’t ever gone anywhere in the first place, had you?

**Dramma giocoso Act III. Recitativo una Verità**

The doors shut with the last Blue Lions students leaving into the cool afternoon, wishing you a good evening. You waved before focusing back on your work. Classroom cleaning duty was a drag, but you weren't going to complain. Not when it was just the two of you. Shut away from the world. It was quiet. Almost romantic, in a certain way. You felt the draw of words on your lips, the need to spin some fantasy.

Then he sighed, your somber companion, and reality snapped back into clarity.

“I wouldn’t mind cleaning up alone, you know,” you told Dimitri. "You seem… Tired.” That was putting it mildly. You doubted Dimitri had gotten even a single wink of sleep since that battle in the sealed forest. There was more to it, you knew. Something was wrong with him.

Something? Everything.

There was no fantasy here. Ever since Dimitri had snapped after losing Professor Byleth, he’d been balancing on a knife’s edge. It was worse than ever —as if that outburst had stoked the flames of mania he tried so hard to keep hidden, as if he was one push away from losing it. 

“No, it’s nothing,” Dimitri said, looking down as he wiped off the desks. “Please, don’t mind me.”

You sighed, but didn’t push it. It wasn’t as if you actually wanted him to leave. Even if his company pained you, it was preferable to being alone. The silence was dull. And suffocating. And you hated it. “We haven't been alone like this much,” you said, wishing to change the subject. “Not since the night of the ball.”

“So it is,” Dimitri replied. Your back was turned as you wiped down the chalkboard so you couldn’t see his face, but you could imagine the stiff posture that accompanied those stiff words.

“Do you regret it?” you asked after a long moment of hesitation, trying to play it off casually and knowing that you were failing miserably. “That night, I mean. Do you regret what we did?”

“No, I don’t,” he responded.

“You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings,” you countered, finally sneaking a glance behind yourself. Dimitri wasn’t looking at you. Instead, he sighed, putting a hand to his forehead for a moment.

“I don’t regret it,” he said with more conviction. He looked up and your eyes locked, sending a jolt through your stomach that wasn’t entirely pleasant. “But I’m not so sure it was wise.”

You held his gaze a moment longer, trying to figure out what he felt behind all that doubt and guilt and worry. Maybe nothing, at least not for you. But maybe… It was a fruitless effort. Finally, you turned away to finish wiping off the day’s lesson. The calibration of ballistas. Siege warfare was far more important than you’d ever considered, but some of the more complicated calculations gave you a headache.

“I don’t regret it, either. Even if it wasn’t wise, I don’t regret it.” Then, in a brighter tone, you added, “Besides, if I only ever did things that were wise, I’d never do anything at all.”

Oddly, thankfully, Dimitri laughed. It was awkward, but the sound was far more welcome than his unhappy sighs. It made your heart soar. “My father said something similar, once. I didn’t understand what he meant at the time but perhaps now...”

“Your father?” you asked, turning around again. “You mean King Lambert? Was he a reckless man?”

“In some regards, I suppose. But especially when it came to my step-mother. You see, their relationship was a rather... ill-advised match.”

“Your step-mother,” you said. “You’ve mentioned her before, but I’ve never seen any mention that King Lambert remarried.”

“Yes, their union was kept a secret,” Dimitri said.

“Why?”

“Well,” he said carefully, perhaps realizing how much he’d unintentionally shared, “it was rather complicated. My father kept it a secret from nearly everybody. Even now, few people know the truth.”

“Because it wasn’t wise?”

“You could say that,” he responded, returning to wiping a desk that was already polished to a shine. Avoiding any further questioning.

You considered that, chewing on the information. You couldn’t decide if it was romantic or tragic. You couldn’t decide if you should give in to your burning curiosity or keep to yourself. You couldn’t decide what Dimitri felt, or what to say. So you said nothing, allowing the silence to stagnate in the lonely classroom as you went to the lineup of books on the shelf to straighten them up.

“My step-mother,” Dimitri finally said, “that is, the woman who raised me, is Edelgard’s biological mother. Formally a consort of Emperor Ionius IX, she fled to the Kingdom for the same reason as her daughter. The marriage was kept a secret for her safety. Only those closest to my father were told of her.”

You turned, eyes wide. “That means you and Edelgard are…”

“Step-siblings,” Dimitri confirmed. “By marriage.”

“Is that when the two of you became friends? When your father married her mother?”

“Not exactly. While it’s true that my step-mother sought refuge from the Empire for the same reason as her daughter, Edelgard was not aware that her mother was in the Kingdom. Neither of us knew of the other’s circumstances, or that we were technically related. I wasn’t told until after she was already gone.”

Hearing him speak of her gave you a heavy, dull feeling. Like a little thump against your chest. He loved Edelgard, you realized. Not the same as it had been when they were children, perhaps, but it was there. There was no other explanation for the pain you saw on his face when he spoke of her, it actually made a lot more sense now than it had the night of the White Heron Ball. The realization took your breath away all the same, but it was too heavy and obvious for it to really ache. You knew you should have left well enough alone, you’d gotten more answers out of him today that you really deserved. But you couldn’t.

“Sylvain said that you once gave a girl a dagger. Was that Edelgard?” you asked. That awful jealousy was there, but knowing who you were jealous of hollowed it all out. The tragedy of it all was just too much to get worked up.

Dimitri winced. “Of course he told you.” He sighed. “Yes, it was Edelgard. When she left the Kingdom, I gave her a dagger.” He paused, his body wound with sudden tension. “To cut a path to the future she wished to create.” Bitterness infected his voice, anger you didn’t understand. “And I would rise up and meet her there,” Dimitri spoke those words so softly you wondered if he was even talking to you. “But that was a long time ago. I don’t even think she remembers. There’s no reason to believe it could be…" He trailed off, shaking his head while wiping off the same clean section of the desk.

“I’m sorry,” you said uncomfortably. “I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.” 

Dimitri let out a heavy breath, meeting your eyes. “As I said before, we’ve both changed too much for any hope at reconciliation. And in any case, it’s in the past now.” Emotions warred behind his eyes, a tumultuous whirl that you couldn’t figure out on your own. But Dimitri looked away, unwilling to enlighten you any further.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, your chest clenching painfully. “Is there anything I can… I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s nothing,” Dimitri said, clearing his throat and looking up at you. “I believe we’re done in here.”

“Yes, right,” you agreed, still reeling from his mercurial shift in mood. Not to mention hurt. Again. One step forward, two steps back.

“Are you prepared for tomorrow?” he asked, tucking his hair back behind his ear from where it had fallen while cleaning.

You forced a little smile. “It’s pretty exciting, huh? A divine revelation… Very poetic. I, um, yes, I’m prepared for anything this time.”

Dimitri nodded, but he still looked concerned. It was a different type than before, the concern of a combatant preparing himself for battle. A means to distract himself. “That’s good.” He hesitated, worry creeping back over his expression. “There’s no reason to think there will be trouble, but I have this feeling… It’s important that everyone is ready for whatever might come.”

For reasons you couldn’t quite define, a shiver ran down your spine. Everyone was so excited that they were getting to witness the divine revelation, it was easy to forget that you were also attending as guards.

“If we’re done here, I’ll be going,” Dimitri said. “I must see to a few things while it’s still daylight.” He turned, not waiting for an answer. Not that he ever did. No. _No!_ Things couldn’t end like this, they couldn’t. So you jumped forward and grabbed his hand to keep him with you, not thinking. Not that you ever did.

“Dimitri,” you said. He turned, surprised, but didn’t shake off your grasp. You didn’t plan on the words, didn’t consider them before they left your mouth. “After the revelation… After tomorrow is over —when everything has settled a bit, can we… Can we talk?”

“Talk?” A crease formed between his eyebrows, an adorable expression. “About what?”

Somehow, the question threw you off in its logic. It should have been so obvious of an answer, but he was oblivious and you were in over your head. “Today, the things you said… A-and Remire, and the Sealed Forest, and your eyes... I want to understand.”

“Understand?” he asked, an edge to the word at the mention of the things that had happened.

“I want to understand how you feel.” Just like that, you knew why you had grabbed his hand. Why you had begun rambling. Of course, if you knew what he felt, you could lose the doubt and fear. You could help him, maybe. You had to, otherwise...

Dimitri stiffened, his eyes widening in surprise. Was there interest, too? Or were you merely seeing what you wished to? “I’m… I’m not sure that’s possible,” he said awkwardly.

“Maybe not, I know… No, I don’t know, but I can tell it’s hard on you to confide in people,” you continued, refusing to give up so easily. “But sometimes it’s easier to carry things with two people, even when one of them is as strong as you. Right? And if not me…” You had to swallow down the lump those words put in your throat, the surprise you felt at how much they hurt. “If not me, then someone. Professor Byleth, maybe. Or your friends. You don’t need to be alone.”

Dimitri said nothing. His expression was difficult to read, eyes scouring your face for something, searching desperately as time suspended in still silence. Fragile balance in perpetuity, the paradoxical sensation of forever in the span of a few seconds. You felt the moment he’d decided his response, saw some conclusion formed behind his furrowed brow.

“I can’t make any promises,” Dimitri said, meeting your eyes directly.

“I know.”

“So why-”

“Because I care about you,” you told him, cutting him off. Dimitri pulled in a sharp breath at the blunt admission, or perhaps because of the overt way you made it. This time, there was no sweet sentimentality to your voice. It was a fact, an argument. “Just think it over, okay? I know we have to focus all our energy on the mission right now.”

Dimitri visibly swallowed. Nodded. “That’s true. When this is over… I’ll think about it.”

It was impossible not to trust his word. Earnest, wonderful, accidentally duplicitous man that he was.

“May I ask one more thing of you?” you asked without thinking, the words tumbling out all at once. “I know I don’t have any right to, and you’re more than welcome to say no, and-”

“What is it?” Dimitri asked.

“May I…” You nearly weren’t able to get the words out. But they weren’t the truly difficult words, not the ones that would ruin you. So you met his eyes and smiled hopefully and asked. “May I kiss you?”

Dimitri’s eyes widened, color flushing into his cheeks. It was sweet, unbearably so. He took so much upon himself, he said such awful things when he lost himself to his temper, but he was still just a man. And it was really rather boyish the way his eyes flicked down to your lips as he swallowed hard. After all you’d done together, it was silly that this would fluster him so. But it did.

“We… I shouldn’t,” he said.

“Because it’s unwise?” you asked, knowing you were dangerously close to teasing him. It was just too easy.

Dimitri swallowed hard, meeting your gaze as he nodded slowly. Then he looked away, his eyes focusing anywhere and everywhere that wasn’t you. “Yes. That, among other things. I shouldn’t-”

“Do you want to?” you asked. “I do. I think about it a _lot_.”

“Kissing?” Dimitri asked, awkward and so unaware of how adorable he could be.

“We did quite a bit more than kissing,” you said quietly. You were teasing him now, there was no way you could claim you weren’t. “Should I remind you? Perhaps I could write a song, I bet-”

“No,” Dimitri said, his face now dyed in a decidedly sweet shade of bright red. “No, I don’t need to be reminded, I remember it all quite well.”

“Do you really? Do you think about it?” You stepped a half step closer to him, knowing your smile was nothing short of mischievous. Probably your face was red, too, but you liked this embarrassment. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I think about how you-”

Although you were fully expecting Dimitri’s objection to cut you off, you did not expect for that objection to come in the form of his lips against yours. It was chaste and his lips were chapped and he was very stiff as he held you and it was so utterly perfect. He released you far too quickly, but you couldn’t help but grin like an idiot regardless, slightly dazed as your head filled with the way he smelled, the tingling buzz of where your lips and his had met.

“What was that for?” you asked.

“That’s what you wanted, was it not?” Dimitri was still blushing, but he didn’t look quite so awkward. You swore you could even see a slight smile curling his lips.

“You weren’t just trying to get me to stop talking?” you asked.

“I admit,” Dimitri said reluctantly, “I’m not being particularly fond of being teased.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, only meaning it a little.

“I should be the one apologizing,” Dimitri told you, suddenly serious as he shook his head. “Too often I find myself acting impulsively around you.” Just like that, the glow abated. He never really could just let a moment be.

“Why are you sorry?” you asked. “I like it.” Dimitri stared you down, his eyes intense. “Even if that’s true… I shouldn’t. And I-I’m sorry for that.”

You sighed into the distance between you. “I know.”

He cleared his throat. “Now, I really must go.”

“I know,” you repeated, trying to not sound even half as forlorn as you felt. “Thank you for indulging me.” With some willpower, you mustered up a smile for him. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yes,” Dimitri said, studying your attempted grin rather than returning it. “Well then. Goodbye.” As you would expect of him, his retreat was awkward. But he did send a last glance your way as he left the classroom, his gaze piercing as they puzzled over something. To top off all of the silly, reckless choices you’d made in the last hour, the temptation to tell Dimitri you loved him was so strong it nearly choked you. The words were right there, so close, poised on the tip of your tongue.

But then he was gone, blue cape waving farewell, and you didn’t say anything.

**Dramma giocoso Act III. Scherzo Contorto**

Buried deep in the belly of the monastery, the Holy Tomb was a sight unlike any other. Truthfully, you hadn’t been quite sure what to expect. The only other tombs you had seen were those of nobles rich enough to afford the expense, which meant they were constantly tended to. This place, despite being a sacred burial ground, gave the distinct impression of disrepair. The floor was rife with cracks, several of the stately pillars had crumbled to loose chunks of stone rubble, and the air tasted stale, smelled of stone and dust and archaic rot.

That wasn’t to say that it wasn’t grand. Grander than anything even the richest noble could hope to buy. Ancient and carnivorous, the Holy Tomb’s ceiling stretched far above your heads, the strange mechanism that had taken you down letting out onto a platform that allowed a view of the room in its extraordinary entirety. Blueish lanterns cast the place in ambient light, enough to see by, but not quite enough to drive away the shadows. And in the shadows, an antediluvian chill. The type of cold that could only exist in a place never touched by the sun’s light. Nobody said anything at first, taking it all in. Somehow, you felt it would have been wrong to break the silence. Disrespectful to something far older than yourself, a quiet that had persisted since time itself buried beneath the earth’s surface.

There was no mistake that this place was not for the living. You, with your fluttering pulse and roaming eyes, were an interloper. That thought made you stick more closely to the group, chills running down your spine that had nothing to do with the cool air.

“Are you surprised, Professor?” Rhea asked warmly. “This is the Holy Tomb.”

“Incredible… To think that such a vast space has been hiding beneath the monastery all this time…” Dimitri mused quietly, looking around with far more awe than Professor Byleth’s vaguely curious expression. “I wonder what powers that giant mechanism that descends beneath the ground…”

“This is where the goddess who created this world was laid to rest, along with her children,” Rhea stated as if she hadn’t heard him. Mercedes let out a small sound in reaction. You could see her face in profile, lips pulled into a sorrowful frown and hand clutched over her heart. “Follow me, so you may receive the goddess’s revelation,” Rhea continued, gesturing for the group to follow her down the steps.

Although the revelation ceremony didn’t involve you, nerves about what was going to happen began to twist in your stomach. The setting didn’t help, of course. Although you weren’t nearly as superstitious as Ashe, it was only natural to feel a bit uncomfortable about the dead. Especially when the eternal rest in question was that of a divine being.

Trying to divert your thoughts, you focused instead on the leading figure of Lady Rhea, ever so stately in her lovely dress and flowing cape. She didn’t bother even a glance back, focused entirely on the throne set upon a dramatic dais ahead. But, regardless of that fervent anticipation, she walked with grace you could only dream of. Her head was held high and posture straight without slouching. Dimitri had mentioned his feeling that she was strong enough to defend herself, but you had a hard time seeing it. Then again, he’d spent his life around warriors and soldiers, so his judgment did hold quite a bit of weight. Well, it was anyone’s guess, considering not even Professor Byleth seemed to know who Lady Rhea was, exactly.

Despite that, Professor Byleth didn’t flinch as he followed right behind her, appraising the tomb with his usual cool stoicism. You wondered what he felt about the entire affair, a relative outsider being called by divine mandate to receive an uncertain revelation in the tomb full of the ancient dead, but his behavior offered no clues.

Dimitri’s true thoughts were just as difficult to discern, although it was nearly impossible to get a good look at his expression since he had taken his natural position at Professor Byleth’s side. Your heart clenched when you looked at him. Dimitri wouldn’t hurt you on purpose, he absolutely wouldn’t, you just had to be patient. He had promised. But now was certainly not a good time to think of that, so you changed your focus.

The others were easier to read than your fair leaders, their faces cast in the creepy light. Nerves, anticipation, awe —even Felix, despite his indifferent attitude, looked somewhat interested as he looked around the place. Only Mercedes was entirely solemn, her hands clasped together and a mournful expression on her face as she looked at the lines of coffins.

“It is said that our creator —the goddess Sothis— sat upon this very throne,” Rhea said as you approached the throne of mythic status, coming to a standstill at its base with everyone else following suit.

The throne of the goddess Sothis was a magnificent piece of architecture. One would think that you’d already have felt all the awe and intimidation the chamber had to offer, but there was a different type of magic imbued in the dominating piece that could only be felt when you were standing before the dais. The throne was empty now, but perhaps your mind could cobble together an image of the goddess from all of the songs you’d heard of her. Maybe you could imagine her striking a blessed figure of raw and eternal beauty as she looked down upon the people, her eyes hazy and swirling with the cosmic power to rearrange the world as she wished. Green hair and eyes, you knew those things without reference, a figure who’d command the attention and respect of all around her, yet also maintain a comforting presence.

“Professor… Do you recognize this throne?” Rhea asked.

“I do,” Professor Byleth responded without hesitation, his eyes fixed intently on the throne.

Rhea drew in a shuddering breath, letting it out with the tremulous words, “So long… I have waited so very long for this day. Sit upon the throne.” She urged Professor Byleth, her gentle voice thrumming with an undercurrent of excitement. “I have no doubt you will be gifted a revelation from the goddess.”

Professor Byleth nodded to her. He didn’t look nervous, or even half as awed as the rest of you. He approached the throne with confident, measured steps. Right then, you could truly believe that he was about to receive a revelation from the goddess, awaiting it with breath caught in your lungs. If anyone were to be more deity than man, matching the image you had of the goddess but created anew for the modern era, it would be Professor Byleth.

An absolute hush descended upon the group as he sat down. Gingerly, with respect to the throne, but comfortable with his familiarity. You peeked over at Dimitri, able to partially see his expression as he watched Professor Byleth with rapt attention, his coiled posture that of someone anticipating something with great eagerness.

“Well?” Rhea asked softly, calling your attention back to the events at hand.

Professor Byleth’s expression had pulled inward slightly. It was subtle, but that was his look of concern. You felt your heart sink.

“It was supposed to be but a step away… What could possibly be missing?” Rhea said, her eyes closed as she turned away from the throne and Professor Byleth with a disappointed expression. Or was that disappointment _in_ Professor Byleth? You looked uneasily between the two before looking at your equally uncomfortable friends. They seemed as lost as you.

“Halt!” Dimitri shouted, making you jump as the reverent hush was shattered. Everyone looked at him with varying looks of shocked confusion, but he was facing the entrance. “Reveal yourself!”

Confusion was short lived, because the Flame Emperor didn’t hesitate as he stepped out from the thick shadows that covered the platform with the only exit. They were far away, but his uniform was far too distinctive to mistake. Behind the Flame Emperor stood a fan of armored troops, and at his side an unfamiliar, unmasked man.

That unfamiliar man laughed, a horribly mean sound. “Don’t move, any of you! If you move, your lives will be forfeit!” he called, his voice carrying clearly in the yawning open space of the tomb. “Thank you ever so much for guiding us this far. The Imperial army will now take possession of everything in the Holy Tomb.”

“Why is the Imperial army here?” Dedue asked quietly. He had been standing behind you before, his back to you now that you had all turned around.

“This can’t be… How did they get into Garreg Mach?” Ingrid asked.

At the same time, Sylvain said, “Even the Flame Emperor is here, that can only mean-”

“The Flame Emperor is connected to the Empire. What do you know,” Felix muttered dryly, a conclusion to both of their statements.

“I never imagined you’d have the nerve to return here. What are you after, Flame Emperor?” Dimitri demanded, his voice loud enough to carry. His fists were clenched, his expression already bearing a thunderous look of anger.

“Isn’t it obvious?” the Flame Emperor asked in his unnervingly altered voice, the intimidating quality of it unhelped by the echo effect of the tomb’s stale air. “The Holy Tomb contains great power. The power to rule all of Fódlan.”

“And to attain that power, you’ll trample anything that stands in your way.” Dimitri’s voice unraveled out of any control he might have had before, coming out as something akin to a growl. “Just like you did in Duscur!”

Although you couldn’t see his face, Dedue’s body tensed.

“I had nothing to do with that,” the Flame Emperor dismissed out of hand, as if put out by the accusation. He turned to his soldiers, people wearing the red and black of the Empire. “Quickly retrieve the Crest Stones. Kill for them if you must.”

“Insolence!” Rhea cried, striding towards them. Professor Byleth rushed forward as well —as if to stop her— but Rhea planted her feet of her own volition when she stood before you all. The look on her face as she passed you was a glare so intense that you unwittingly took a step back. “You will atone for the sin of trampling on this holy resting place!” She turned to Professor Byleth who had caught up to her side. “Byleth. Destroy these villainous traitors who dare dishonor our creator!”

Professor Byleth didn’t waver. “Lady Rhea, you must fall back,” he said. Then he turned to look at the opposing force, unquestionable determination in his voice. “We will stop them.”

“Protect the Crest Stones at any cost,” Rhea told him. There was something softer beneath that order, a pleading desperation you didn't recognize at all in her voice. “They must not be allowed to take them.”

“Understood,” Byleth responded, his voice even.

“Units, advance,” the Flame Emperor called. His troops immediately began to make their way down the steps, bleeding out into the cavernous burial grounds with the practiced discipline of true soldiers. They outnumbered the Blue Lions, even counting in the guards that had insisted upon accompanying Lady Rhea. Cold fear trickled into your veins at the sight, try as you might to stop it. You had faced the Flame Emperor’s soldiers like this before. The underground battle where you had rescued Flayn. Even without Dimitri, you had made it through.

Professor Byleth turned from the Flame Emperor, facing you all with a determined expression. No doubt or fear, always assured and confident.

“Dimitri, take out the soldiers along the right side. Dedue, Felix, and Annette, you’re with him,” Byleth said, gesturing the direction of their attack. “Ashe, hang back with Mercedes and Flayn. Take out anybody who moves past our advance. The rest of you are with me.”

Professor Byleth’s eyes passed from person to person for agreement, all of you giving him varying levels of confidence in your affirmation. You badly wished you had peed before coming down here.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but-” Felix began, only to be cut off with an awful roar. It reverberated around the tomb, an assault of horrific noise. “It seems that the Imperial army is summoning demonic beasts,” Felix finished when the sound quieted, his voice no less deadpan than before. It was too late to get a reaction, everyone’s attention was already focused on the beasts that protected the estrade and the mages at their sides. They must have Warped them in.

The monstrous things gnashed their jagged and scattered collection of teeth, drool dripping from tongues far too long to fit within their mouths. Horns curled away from the monster's plated head, their large bodies covered with slate colored scales. Whenever they moved, their claws clicked and scratched against the floor. Disgusting, frightening creatures.

“Bringing those abominations here?” Lady Rhea asked, her rage quieted into something simmering and soft. “Kill them, Professor.” Her voice was dark, cold and cruel. “Condemn them to the hellish torment that awaits their souls as punishment for their sins." Professor Byleth’s gaze lingered on Lady Rhea’s face, but he nodded once more.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“I will learn the identity of the Flame Emperor,” Dimitri vowed. He looked impressively stoic, but the expression wasn’t helped by the eerie blue tinge to his skin and the dark bags of many sleepless nights shadowed beneath his eyes. “And then…” He readied his lance, aggression giving extra power to the movement. “I’ll have his head. He will pay for all he has done.”

“Dimitri… Please be careful,” you said, brow knitted in concern and heart clenching. It was the wrong request, but you had no idea how else to phrase your worry for him. Dimitri’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second when they landed on yours, so quick you might have imagined it, but the mask of controlled focus was quick to return in full force. Rage simmered beneath.

“Yes, of course,” he agreed stiffly. Then he turned away, sparing you no last glance. “We must move now, before they get away. Those with me, are you ready?”

“We’re with you, boar,” Felix said, his tone biting. Annette and Dedue agreed more appropriately, Annette with worry written into her expression and Dedue with his expected stoicism and the readying of his ax.

“Let’s go," Professor Byleth said, only sparing momentary concern for Dimitri before turning to you, Ingrid, and Sylvain. He was able to compartmentalize bad things when they happened, set them aside to be dealt with once the danger had passed. You knew you needed to move on as well, but your blood felt cold. Something about this was wrong.

Everything about this was wrong.

Blinking hard, you unsheathed your sword. It was a good, familiar weight in your hands. With Ingrid and Sylvain at your side, you followed your dear teacher into the fray. The spare church guards stuck to the group’s flank despite the speed Professor Byleth set, managing to keep up even as the small force broke up to cover either side of the line of ornate sarcophagi. Already, Imperial soldiers were prying open the coffin lids up ahead.

The sight lit up some source of rage inside of you. Disrespecting the dead was deplorable. Unforgivable. Yes, you could fight for that belief. Of the small group, you were the fastest, the first to descend upon the Empire soldiers. Fighting was something to focus on. Something you could do.

And you were _good_ at it.

A shout left your mouth when you killed the first soldier. They had chosen speed over defense, and their preoccupation with the coffin combined with their lack of heavy armor left the man an easy target for your sword to cut through. The soldier went limp against the stone ledge of the coffin, acting as an anchor for you to hurdle to the other side, pulling your sword out with a spray of blood and catching the next soldier's attack in a parry.

To your right, the beasts roared and snarled, but you forced yourself to ignore the sound, to focus on the pumping rush of blood and the clash of silver and steel.

Adding to the sound was your own cries as the soldier tried to fight you off, obviously waiting for backup to aid him. An opening. The man looked over his shoulder for help. Careless. You struck without mercy, without thought. You did not linger on his shout of pain, nor did you stop to watch him fall, forcing your way forward to where more Imperial Soldiers were swarming.

The soldiers, while brazen, weren’t entirely stupid. They had come in pairs, one to get the Crest Stone and the other to watch their back. Unfortunately for them, you were used to dealing with a set of combatants in tandem, and people protecting something were nearly always at a disadvantage. Your only constraint was taking out all of the thieves before they could retreat. Speed and precision were of the essence.

In your periphery, you were aware that some of the monastery’s guards had joined in the battle against the beasts, made easier by the fact that the mages had been taken out some time before. Shouts and screams from both beasts and man echoed against the grand walls and ancient ceiling in an awful feedback loop of insanity, the stale air puffing through your lungs with the taste of blood and bile.

Just a few more, a bit further. 

Hissing through your teeth, you dodged a slashing attack, rolling across the dusty and cracked ground _towards_ the enemy and the Crest Stone thief he was protecting rather than away. The force of hitting the ground at such an angle took your breath away, but you managed to spring to your feet all the same. It had been a clever dodge, but the soldier was quick to recover, maintaining the flow of the movement to step around you, forcing you to again jump back and away.

Behind him, the soldier he was protecting finally fished out the stone, holding it up victoriously. Triumphant about robbing the dead. As a reward for his efforts, he got a lance through the gut, an angry blonde standing behind him. The soldier you had been fighting was distracted by the surprise attack, giving you the opportunity to cut him down.

A gasping, metallic breath of air left your mouth after rasping against your throat and dry tongue. Sweat threatened to run into your eye before you swiped it away with your torn uniform sleeve. How many uniforms would you go through before the year was out?

“Thanks,” you called to Ingrid, noting the blood on her clothes. She nodded, face splotchy with color but drawn in determination.

And the two of you pushed forward.

In the time that you’d been training, you had quickly found yourself to possess a certain amount of skill in killing. Having a Crest helped, augmented your body above the limits of ordinary people, and perhaps lent some latent battle prowess. Dimitri and the Professor had taught you well, but there were other factors to your strength. It was your oath. When you fought with others, they were relying on you. They needed you, and you had the skills to be needed. There was no place for distraction or doubt here, only the will to fight with your entire self. You killed to protect. It was better to not think very hard about it, to allow your training to take over and the driven mentality of fighting to keep your attacks steady and true. All it really meant was that it came as no surprise that you fought better with a friend at your side.

You and Ingrid complimented each other —if you chose a dance of the same rhythm. Both fast, both refined. Slashing sword and jabbing lance, the attacks weaving a deadly offensive force against the Imperial Soldiers who continued to flow towards the coffins. Their number was dwindling, you noticed. The Flame Emperor didn’t intend to commit fully, and you couldn’t blame him. His vile beasts were dead, most of the soldiers he’d sent to steal the Crest Stones were laying scattered about the tomb. His plan was in ruins, you thought with grim satisfaction as you took out the final soldier in the most recent rush. If this was like the other times, it was time for the Flame Emperor to retreat, time for-

“Dimitri,” you gasped. Your eyes had been unthinkingly scanning your surroundings for his familiar figure, finding him as he brutally cut past soldiers to get to the platform where the Flame Emperor stood. Professor Byleth, who had come up from behind you, followed your eye-line. His expression tightened with worry.

“Can you three finish here?” Professor Byleth asked, turning back to the small, tired group. Sylvain had only just reached the group, breathing hard and wiping sweat from his brow. He looked weary, but far from giving up.

“With two cute girls at my side counting on me to protect them? Psh, this’ll be easy,” Sylvain said. Ingrid had a retort, but you didn’t hear it, taking a step towards Professor Byleth and grasping his arm.

“Don’t let him get hurt,” you pled, doing everything you could to convey your absolute desperation. It no longer mattered what your feelings looked like to others, or what conclusions were drawn. You were no grand actress, anyway. Professor Byleth’s green eyes held yours, steady and piercing, before he nodded solemnly.

“I won’t.”

His arm was shaken free when he moved to cut through to reach Dimitri, taking on a dead sprint you weren’t sure you’d seen anyone else be able to so unblinkingly maintain. Your Professor really was something special. You could only hope it would be enough.

“We have to keep moving,” Ingrid said. You nodded, squeezing the grip of your sword with a fresh sense of urgency.

“Let’s go.”

Soldiers in red shouted as the three of you charged the defensive line holding the stairs up to the platform where the Flame Emperor waited. Ingrid struck ahead, moving past the group of immediate melee fighters to take out the mages while you and Sylvain acted as blunt offense. The enemies hollered to rally themselves as they charged, and they screamed when blade and lance met flesh. Downing them didn’t usually mean silence, but it was easier to ignore the dampened cries of a dying man than you might have thought. There weren’t men or enemies, but obstacles.

You were the first to make it to the top of the stairs, panting heavily and wiping your brow of sweat. Without much airflow, the tomb had become unbearably stagnant and suffocating. You never thought about how blessed it was to breathe fresh air until you were denied the luxury.

The sight that greeted you when you turned to attention was enough to make you forget the discomfort, pressing as it was. The Flame Emperor, after all this time, had decided to join in the fight. Ahead you could see the frenzied small scale battle in full force, Dimitri and Professor Byleth against the Flame Emperor and his snake-faced commander, the group surrounded by imperial soldiers.

“More?” Ingrid asked as she crested the stairs to stand beside you, her voice raised in astonishment. A sentiment you agreed with. This fight had been brutal. As if a surprise ambush on holy ground, grave robbing, and the frightening use of demonic beasts weren’t enough to try and counter, the Flame Emperor had brought a shocking number of troops. He had intended for not just theft, but a massacre.

“Getting tired, Ingrid?” Sylvain teased, joining you two. His face was flushed and shiny with sweat, his red hair an absolute mess, and his armor was spattered with gore you could only hope wasn’t his, but the roguish grin he wore was as natural as ever.

Ingrid scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You should be more worried about yourself, Sylvain. Wouldn’t want you to pass out from overexertion due to a woeful lack of stamina.”

“Hey, I’ve got plenty of stamina! I’m sure if you ask Colette she’ll be able to tell you-” His words died off at the look she gave him. Aided by the splatter of drying blood on her cheek, the flat glare Ingrid regarded Sylvain with managed to be more intimidating than the murderous enemies you were about to charge. He didn’t push on, recovering with an awkward cough and turning towards you instead. “What about you? Ready to finish this?”

Sylvain’s question was casual, but there was a genuine concern in his eyes. Fatigue, too. He hid it well by playing it off with his easy nonchalance and indecent remarks, but this battle had been a rough one. Despite that, he and Ingrid didn’t look even half as weary as you felt.

Both of them were born and bred for this type of life. Killing, fighting. Protecting. In comparison, you knew you must have looked weak. You were able to keep up with their rapid pace through the tomb, but the toll of exhaustion was set deep into your bones. The sword you held was a familiar weight in your hand, the armor you wore a comfortable second skin, but a conman could wear the costume of a nobleman and still remain a fraud.

“I’m ready,” you replied anyway, mustering up the energy to smile. Just one more push and you would be able to help Dimitri and Professor Byleth. You wouldn’t fail; you couldn’t fail.

“Let’s go, then. His Highness and the Professor look as if they could use some help,” Ingrid said, her face forward, focused on the job at hand. Always focused, like a true knight. Filled with valor and passion, fulfilling her duty without the weakness and doubt that sometimes distracted you. She embodied the hero you wished to be, and that lent you strength. “Sylvain, take the lead. We’ll cover you,” Ingrid continued, looking to both of you for your agreement, which you gave with a refreshed determination. Considering his preference for axes, it was best to keep out of his way completely. The three of you got into the triangular position, and the grim focus of battle returned, destroying whatever scraps of levity there had been.

With speed and unwavering strength, the next fight began. Keeping a triangular formation served as both a good offense to cut into the ranks and defense to keep the opponent from getting any one of you surrounded. Not perfect, what with the numbers stacked against your party of three, but effective. You weren’t sure at what point Ashe had joined you all on the platform, but he crouched near the steps, using his bow to take out the interfering mages and archers. The four of you made altogether quick work of the final guard.

Not long after, it was over. So quick, yet utterly draining. You all had taken out a startling number of men, but there was no time to feel any real sense of satisfaction in the victory. Any emotion or feeling was drawn away nearly instantly by the chills that prickled across your sweaty skin.

Something was terribly, indescribably wrong.

The wrongness hovered in the air, intangibly present. A stiff silence that clashed with the expected ravenous noise that battle created. Not a lack of sound, but the abrupt disruption of it. One that generally was only found inviting or following catastrophe. You turned to where Dimitri and the Professor had been fighting, looking for the problem. At first, you didn’t understand. The murderous enemy commander was dead, his corpse twisted in a broken heap by the feet of the Flame Emperor and snake face twisted in fear. Soldiers coming from the other side crowded behind the intimidating figure as backup. Dimitri and Professor Byleth stood with their backs to you, facing their foe.

And the Flame Emperor was-

Surreality framed that moment, stretched it out just a bit too long as your brain fought to catch up. In it, you became overly aware of a disconnected set of sensory details. The image of the Flame Emperor’s mask on the floor, a symbol of fear laying powerlessly at Dimitri’s feet. The uncomfortable feeling of a face flushed painfully hot, of sweat dripping and condescending most uncomfortably beneath your clothes. The taste of air that was dusty and stale. And Edelgard’s face, set right where the Flame Emperor’s mask usually was. She stood where the Flame Emperor had stood, wearing the clothes and wielding the weapons that the Flame Emperor had worn and wielded. Taking the position of a monster who was responsible for so much suffering and fear.

Edelgard was the Flame Emperor.

Dimitri hunched over where the dreaded mask had come to a stop. His back was to you, making you unable to see his expression. All you saw was his shoulders beginning to shake. At first you thought he was crying, strange and maddened little sobs. Then his head tossed back, and his crazed laughter rang through the Holy Tomb.

“Is this some kind of twisted joke?” He demanded as the bouts of laughter subsided. Wild and violent, his voice was nearly hoarse with the force of hysteria. There was no answer, no expression or reaction to his question. Edelgard’s face was drawn and determined but lacked regret or doubt. It really was her. She really meant this.

Dimitri, no longer laughing, readied his lance at his side.

Ceramic cracked beneath his boot with a crunch of shattered glass, the Flame Emperor’s mask breaking into jagged pieces of white and red.

Professor Byleth tried to stop him as he advanced, but it was pointless. It made a nauseating sort of sense that he would continue. After all, Dimitri had already followed through on part of his earlier oath to learn the identity of the Flame Emperor, now all he needed to do was-

But it was _Edelgard._

“I’ll take your head from your shoulders,” Dimitri declared in spite of that, his voice deep and dripping madness. “And hang it from the gates of Enbarr!”

As if that was a battle cry, he charged, a figure of azure death and raw violence. A beast let loose. With a wide sweep of his lance, he brushed aside several Imperial soldiers like dominos. As they crashed to the floor, he lunged forward, throwing his lance at her like it was a javelin. The deadly sharp tip missed Edelgard’s head by inches, crashing against the wall behind her.

Nobody stepped in, perhaps because you all realized that you risked being subject to his rampage should you try to stop him. Edelgard watched, too, boxed in by her own doing against the back wall. Unarmed, Dimitri breezed between attacks, throwing men around like rag dolls or hitting them into dropping. With a spray of fallen soldiers around him, his momentum brought him to fall on top of an attacking soldier. The man’s bones snapped beneath Dimitri’s punch. The last of her guards took a chance while the prince was distracted, rushing at him with his lance raised. Dimitri neatly turned out of the attack, his hand catching the man by the face. Without looking, he _squeezed_. Bone crunched beneath his grasp. The man’s body fell, hitting the floor beside all the others with an empty thud.

Dimitri’s shoulders heaved with his labored breathing as he stared Edelgard down. You couldn’t see his face, but you could see hers. Raw shock and horror, her eyes wide within the framing of the dark helmet and robes.

Edelgard raised the shield when he approached, taking a few steps backward from the bloodied Dimitri. He grabbed the edges of the giant red shield and ripped it from her, tossing it back as if it were nothing. The heavy metal crashing to the stone floor with a shockingly loud clamor of metal on stone, scratching across it before coming to a standstill. She attempted an attack next, but he was ready for it, grabbing onto the handle of the ax and using the momentum to catch her off balance.

“Before I break your neck,” Dimitri said, holding the ax steady to keep her in place, “there is one thing I must ask you.”

Edelgard grunted in annoyed distress, attempting to pull her weapon away from him. “Stay out of my way,” she demanded.

“I don't recall giving you permission to speak,” Dimitri told her, his voice deadly low. “Answer my question. That is all you have left to do. Flame Emperor...no. Edelgard. Tell me now. Why did you cause such a tragedy?”

Edelgard didn’t answer, still fighting against his hold. Dimitri released the ax, throwing her off balance again. But he didn’t attack, as you expected. Instead, he seemed to shy away from her.

“You killed your own mother, and yet you haven't even had the decency to stop and consider the reasons behind your actions. Have you?!” he demanded, his calm unraveling with emotion, making his voice hoarse.

“I already told you,” Edelgard said, straightening up with her face composed into a stoic mask. “I had nothing to do with that.”

Dimitri laughed, a single burst of humorless sound. “It was foolish to think I could reason with a lowly beast.”

He was going to attack her. You couldn’t see Dimitri’s face, but you could tell by his body language. He was going to attack one of the strongest combatants you knew of in an uneven grapple.

But he didn’t get the chance. Two of the men he’d downed had gotten to their feet and reclaimed their weapons. One of them could barely stand, his gait a shambling limp. Despite that, they rushed at Dimitri.

“Your Majesty, now!” one of them called. Dimitri was forced to turn away from Edelgard in order to handle the two armed men. He swore at them, easily avoiding their attacks. One of the Imperial soldiers was thrown back as Dimitri grabbed the shaft of the man’s spear and used it to toss him to the floor like a rag doll. The other was not so fortunate. He lurched in to get Dimitri with a sword strike. Dimitri punched him directly in the face. You couldn’t hear the bone crunch, but you saw the way his skull crumpled inward around the prince’s fist, blood and gore being forced out to accommodate the blow.

Your focus was so entirely on Dimitri that you didn’t notice when Hubert appeared beside Edelgard. You only realized it when she called for retreat. Her voice, no longer distorted by the mask, was crisp in the silence following Dimitri’s sickening violence. It was all that remained of her when Hubert Warped both of them out of the Holy Tomb.

Finally, you looked around, as if to affirm that this was real. That everything you’d just seen had really happened. In your distraction, you hadn’t noticed that everyone else had come up the stairs to watch the sickening exhibition, but you did notice their expressions. Mirrors of you own, terror and disbelief.

Rhea in her pristine white dress and golden cape stalked past you, her footsteps clicking against the stone and breaking the silence. She ignored the gore and destruction, her eyes forward and head held high. Still, there was a distinct tension in her posture.

“She escaped,” Rhea said, her voice pointed as she stared down Dimitri. Even accusatory.

Dimitri didn’t seem to hear her. His hands were covered in blood, gore splattered across his uniform and face. He stood, panting like a caged animal as he regarded the place where Edelgard had stood.

“You, foolish boy, allowed her to-” Rhea’s voice, which had been growing in volume and emotion, cut off when Professor Byleth put a hand on her arm. He shook his head, something passing between them. She relaxed slightly. “Yes, you’re right. He is not to blame,” Rhea said reluctantly.

Then she took a deep breath, stepping away from Professor Byleth. Her expression was drawn with determination. With simmering rage. “It doesn’t matter,” Rhea said. “To flee is futile. The Church of Seiros will raise its entire army against that wicked girl until she has been captured and punished.” Rhea paused, her intensity growing as she looked around the battleground that had been made out of the Holy Tomb. Disgust curled her lip. “She defiled the Holy Tomb, dishonored the goddess, and humiliated her brethren. That crime will never be erased, even if she burns in the eternal flames and spills all of her blood into the goddess's soil!”

That proclamation was met with stunned silence. Your head spun from seeing the display of such vitriolic rage from someone you had thought to be composed and warm.

Rhea swept her eyes once more across the Holy Tomb before turning with a flourish. “Come, Byleth,” she said. “Let us return and decide upon our next course of action.”

“I must see to my students first,” Professor Byleth said.

Rhea shot him a look that was almost offended, but did ultimately nod. “Yes, of course.”

“The rest of you, return with Lady Rhea,” Professor Byleth said, looking across each of you. Rhea and your uncharacteristically silent classmates loaded into the cab of the strange mechanism that would raise them above ground, but you didn’t move.

Dimitri still stood in place, his eyes closed. He didn’t look well. Not at all.

“I’d rather stay,” you said softly. Professor Byleth frowned, but he didn’t argue. That was enough. You hurried towards Dimitri, your heart pounding like a war drum. “Dimitri, are you hurt?” you asked him, pausing before getting too close. You didn’t like to think you were afraid, but a faceless corpse laid only a few feet away, crumpled in a pool of viscera. Dimitri didn’t open his eyes, groaning in response and pressing a hand to his face. It left a bloody print on his pale skin.

"Are you okay?" Professor Byleth asked, approaching behind you.

“We weren't able to defeat her,” Dimitri said, his voice hoarse.

“Your Highness…” Dedue’s worry was more overt than you’d ever hard from him.

“Dimitri…” you said, tentative reaching out to put a hand on his arm. He tensed up, his eyes snapping open. They were wild, draped in shadow. He looked at you like he didn’t even recognize you, shrugging off your hand with a sharp movement.

“I will kill Edelgard,” Dimitri said, looking away from you to meet Professor Byleth’s eyes. “With my own hands. I swear it!” As if to affirm that promise, his hands formed fists, blood cracking in little lines across his knuckles.

“Dimitri, please,” you said, the almost physical sensation of your heart breaking making your voice tense and soft. “I think you should rest a moment before-”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” he said sharply. You flinched, but the words were effective in making you stop talking. “Come, Byleth, let's return to the monastery. It is clear what must be done.” Dimitri didn’t wait for an answer. He brushed past you without a further glance.


End file.
